Euphoria
by Viscount Anarchy
Summary: A generic year 4 canon rehash fic featuring eventual Harry/Fleur.
1. Chapter 1

Lightning flashed overhead, striking a tree somewhere off in the Forbidden Forest. Harry Potter flinched back reflexively, just as the crash of thunder shook the carriage that he and his friends were riding up to the school.

Each flash of lightning highlighted the massive castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, its silhouette casting long shadows down onto the convoy. As they neared the school, the wind picked up into a gale, buffeting the side of the carriage relentlessly.

Of his friends who were with him in the carriage, Harry wasn't sure who looked the most worried. Hermione fretted about in her seat, nervously pulling at the hem of her robe, while Neville shrunk back from the glass, trying to cement himself into the padded carriage seat. Ron, by contrast, had his face plastered to the glass window and was watching with wide eyes as bolts of lightning arced out across the sky like a spiderweb.

"I can't say I envy the first years having to go across the lake in a thunderstorm," Harry commented idly.

"They'll be lucky if one of them doesn't get killed," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"It's traditional," Ron pointed out.

"What, for a first year to get killed?" asked Hermione.

"No, to cross the lake," replied Ron, stating the obvious. "The storms adds to the experience."

"Well, I guess they aren't likely to forget it," Hermione grudgingly agreed.

The castle loomed up overhead, and a minute later, they were rushing as fast as possible through the downpour and up the stairs to the castle, not pausing to stop until they were safely inside the candle-lit entrance hall. It would have been all too easy for someone to slip and fall, but luckily everyone was unharmed, albeit soaking wet.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, shaking water all over the place. Hermione started applying drying charms, but no amount of them seemed to have any appreciable effect. Just as she was starting to shiver and huff, a red water balloon suddenly crashed down from the ceiling, breaking on the ground and splashing them with even more water.

Hermione, shrieking in surprise, nearly slipped on the wet floor as she backed away from Peeves the poltergeist. Peeves, who was hovering overhead, was cackling in delight as he pelted the already-soaked students with even more water balloons.

A second later, Professor McGonagall came swooping into the hall. She nearly slipped on the water herself, only grabbing onto Hermione at the last second to prevent her fall.

"PEEVES!" she yelled. "GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Peeves, for his part, didn't listen to a word of what the stern professor said, and began throwing even more water balloons at the students. With a swish of her wand, McGonagall caught them all mid air, but Peeves swooped by and popped them all anyway with a snap of his fingers, showering them with even more water.

Before McGonagall could yell again, the poltergeist escaped through the wall, disappearing from sight. The professor looked down at where she had clutched onto Hermione. "I apologize, Miss Granger," she said. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," replied Hermione tersely.

McGonagall nodded her head and turned to look at the assembled mass of students. "Come on now," she said, waving a beckoning hand. "Everyone into the Great Hall."

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville tread carefully on the wet floor and followed everyone else through the double doors, before heading for their table on the far left, past the other three houses.

The Great Hall was as massive as Harry remembered, with the four huge House tables spanning the distance lengthwise with the professor's table at the front. Great braziers lined the walls, already amped up with flames to help dispel the chill the storm had brought in. Above their heads, the storm continued on, the enchanted ceiling displaying exactly what the night sky looked like. The storm's fury was terrible to behold, and Harry was glad to be inside.

Taking a seat next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost, Harry took a second to marvel in how much he had missed Hogwarts. The floating candles, dripping light onto the tables, the great banners displaying the House mascots, the other students chittering away, just as excited to be there as he was. Harry loved it all.

"Greetings," Nearly Headless Nick said as the students took their seats at the table, still dripping water everywhere. Harry and his friends politely nodded at the ghost while they watched the hall slowly fill up.

The staff table seemed awfully deserted, Harry noted. Hagrid was presumably still taking the first years across the lake, which would likely take longer in the storm, and McGonagall was still in the entrance hall, undoing the mayhem that Peeves had caused. But where Harry had expected to see the new Defense teacher, there were no new faces at all.

Hermione, noticing where Harry's attention was, voiced his thoughts. "Maybe they couldn't get anyone?"

"Maybe it's Dumbledore?" suggested Harry. "When's the last time he's taught anyways?"

"Years and years ago," Nearly Headless Nick replied. "1968, I do recall. Some dozen years after he became headmaster."

"Was that when McGonagall started?" asked Hermione.

"No, she started teaching Transfiguration when Headmaster Dumbledore became headmaster - he taught an Alchemy elective."

"That's not offered anymore," observed Hermione.

"No it is not," said Nick. "Interest waned until the there wasn't a single new student. Such is the way with things, and I suspect it will be back eventually. I could tell you of all sorts of electives that you wouldn't believe, some that haven't been around in hundreds of years…"

"Maybe some other time," replied Hermione quickly. "It looks like the Sorting is about to begin."

"So it is," Nick confirmed.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and Professor McGonagall appeared again, with a mass of soaked first years following behind her in a line. They looked like they had swum across the lake, rather than rowed, and Harry didn't envy them, especially since they didn't know any magic yet.

They lined up in front of the staff table, all looking a mix of nervous and anxious, and mostly miserable. Ron tapped his feet impatiently as McGonagall brought out the three legged stool on which she set the Sorting Hat on. Ron was even more impatient when the Hat began to sing its song, a piece about the Four Founders which was different than the one Harry remembered. Then again, the Hat did have the entire year to think up new lyrics.

When the hat was done singing, Ron let out a sigh of relief as McGonagall unfurled a scroll, explained how the Sorting worked, and called out the first name on her list.

"Ackerly, Stewart," was the first student to get sorted, shaking all over in anticipation as he stepped up to the stool and the Sorting Hat. Everyone in the hall watched as McGonagall placed the old Sorting Hat down onto the first-year's head. It was large enough that it practically covered his entire head.

Fifteen seconds or so later, the hat shouted "RAVENCLAW!" to the hall, resulting in applause from the Ravenclaws, and polite clapping from the other houses. Harry watched on as the kid walked over to the table, though his eyes lingered on Cho Chang. She was quite pretty, and Harry would be lying if he said he hadn't had more than one dream about her during the summer.

Harry wasn't sure when he started thinking about girls like that, but it was sometime during the third year, and Cho had been the first girl to really stand out to him. There was something… special about her, that made her stick out amongst her classmates, and it wasn't her exotic looks. She was very smart, and an amazing flier… and of course, very pretty. He probably didn't stand a chance with a girl like her, but it was nice to think about the possibilities.

Cho must have felt him staring, and as she turned her head, almost making eye contact with Harry, he quickly looked away, trying to look unassuming and normal. Several more students had been sorted while he had been distracted, including the first new Gryffindor, Dennis Creevey. He was Colin Creevey's younger brother, and he couldn't wait to tell everyone how he had fallen into the lake during the storm, and that the giant squid had pushed him back out of the water.

Then, Colin had to point Harry out to his younger brother, and that made everything even more awkward. Harry lost interest very quickly in that conversation, not willing to make eye contact with either of them.

Turning his attention back to the Sorting, Harry couldn't help but notice there were _a lot_ of new students. Well, not a massive amount, but definitely more than there were in his year. It didn't take a genius to realize that the war had something to do with that, but Harry also noticed that all the kids seemed much shorter than Harry remembered being at that age.

It took the better part of an hour to sort all of the students, of which there had to have been at least fifty. The Gryffindor table had never felt so full, yet all of their stomachs were still empty. Ron was ready to mutiny if he didn't get fed soon.

As if on cue, the last student was sorted - a Kevin Whitby - Hufflepuff. McGonagall gathered up the Sorting Hat and the rickety stool while Dumbledore stood up from his chair. The elderly headmaster smiled, gesturing wildly to the hall.

"Welcome all, to a new year at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, looking genuinely pleased. "I realize that you have all been waiting patiently, and for that, I thank you. Now, I only have two more words to say - tuck in!"

Cheers went up through the hall as the plates and trays began to fill up magically before their own eyes. Nearly Headless Nick watched on as Ron didn't even bother shoveling food onto his plate, instead jamming everything within range directly down his gullet.

"You know, there almost wasn't a feast at all tonight," the ghost said, leaning in to whisper to them.

"Why's that?" Harry asked between a biteful of food. Unlike Ron, he had managed to get the food onto his plate before eviscerating it.

"Peeves," Nick said simply. "It's an age old argument by now. He wanted to attend the feast, which of course, is right out of the question. He's a poltergeist - not even a real ghost. The council of ghosts convened, and the Fat Friar, being the Hufflepuff he was, was all for giving him the chance. But, the Bloody Baron said no. I agreed."

"So Peeves trashed the kitchen or something?" Ron asked, still not bother to pause his feasting.

"That he did. Smashed bottles, thrown pots. It was a right old mess. I daresay the house-elves were scared out of their minds - "

Hermione dropped her utensils and pushed her plate and goblet away from her. "There's house-elves here," she said flatly. "At Hogwarts?"

"Of course," the Gryffindor Ghost responded. "The largest concentration of them in Britain, I believe."

"I've never seen one -"

"That's the sign of a good house elf," Nick replied. "They spend most of their time in the kitchens. Between meals, they do laundry, light the fires, do a bit of cleaning... You didn't think your luggage would just float itself up to your dorms, did you?"

"I… I.." Hermione was at a loss for words. "They get paid though, right? Benefits, holidays?"

"That's none of your concern, is it?" Nearly-Headless Nick retorted. "They are treated far better here than they would be if they were elsewhere. Headmaster Dumbledore is very fair."

Hermione was having none of it, and it looked like what Nick said did not register in her ears at all. She sat at the table and crossed her arms, refusing to touch another morsel.

"Come on," Ron said, pointing at her with her fork. "You can't starve yourself."

"Slave labor made this meal, Ron," Hermione all but spat out.

"Well, if you're not going to eat this, then I will," Ron replied, reaching for Hermione's plate while also eyeing up the desert. "Look, treacle tart, and cake!"

Hermione's glare would have melted ice, so Ron quieted and returned to eating. Harry chose not to say anything on the subject at all. He didn't have a good history with house-elves, but he knew that they worked at Hogwarts. He wasn't sure when he learned that fact, but it just made sense. There was just no way a staff of ten teachers could operate and maintain a giant castle like Hogwarts by themselves, magic or not.

Harry could feel the turmoil brewing, and an outright war could start at any moment. He had only been at Hogwarts for a few hours, and he really didn't want an argument on his first day back, not with one of his best friends. He ate in silence for the next few minutes, though he kept getting meaningful glances from Ron.

Not long after the last vestiges of dessert disappeared from the plates, the venerable Headmaster once more stood up from his spot at the high table. Accompanied by a loud crash of thunder from outside, the chatter in the hall immediately ceased and he had everyone's attention.

"Another new year," Headmaster Dumbledore said. "And another year where I must ask you all for your attention while I give out the start of term notices. I have been asked by our caretaker, Mr. Filch, to notify you all that the list of forbidden objects now includes Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. That brings the list up to four hundred and thirty-seven items, and the full list is viewable outside of Mr. Filch's office."

Dumbledore seemed to smile to himself, but he continued swiftly onto the next topic. "The Forbidden Forest, is of course, and the name implies, forbidden, and is out-of-bounds for all students. Now, lastly, it is my great pleasure to announce, that for this year - "

Dumbledore himself was interrupted by the sound of thunder, followed by the main doors to the Great Hall creaking open. A man walked in, if he could be called that. With a face that looked like one of those tree-stumps carved to look like a bear, if the carver only knew what a bear looked like from rough description, the man looked the part of a savage. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, helping to hide his grizzly hair, but when lightning flashed overhead, a keen observer could see that he had a magical eye spinning around in his right eye socket, giving the impression that he could see all around him.

He walked methodically towards the high table, his heavy robe swishing around him as his one leg thumped on the ground. It was wooden and looked just as carved as his face, and left little doubt that this man had been involved in some serious fights.

"May I introduce you to Professor Alastor Moody," Dumbledore said to the students. Moody reached the high table and gave the headmaster a handshake before clomping his way around and taking an empty seat. Moody took one look at the goblets on the table before reaching to his side and pulling out a flask and taking a swig. Harry had a feeling that it wasn't water he was drinking.

"A retired Auror, Professor Moody will be teaching Defense against the Dark Arts this year. He has a wealth of knowledge to share with you all, and I'm sure you will all learn from his lessons. Now, as I was saying before, it is with great pleasure to announce, that Hogwarts this year, will be playing host to the Triwizard Tournament - "

Dumbledore was suddenly interrupted by a cacophony of excitement and some amount of confusion. He let the words sink in for a minute before trudging forward. "For those of you who have not heard of this prestigious event, I will explain in brief detail what is involved. The Ministry's Department of Magical Games and Sports and Department of International Magical Cooperation have worked tirelessly to bring back the event in a safer and more controllable manner than the last time it was held, some three hundred and forty-seven years ago."

"It is a competition between the three premier schools of Europe - Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, the Durmstrang Institute, and of course, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Starting at the end of next month, we will be hosting a small contingent from each of the other two schools for the remainder of the year. Each school will have a Champion that will represent them, to be chosen at a later date by an impartial adjudicator."

Pausing a second to make sure everyone in the hall was paying attention to him, Dumbledore swiftly continued with his explanation. "There will be three magical tasks that the three Champions will compete in for the Triwizard Cup. The winner of the Cup will gain fame, glory, and of course, one thousand galleons of personal prize money."

"But before we all set our sights at becoming the Hogwarts Champion, I urge you caution. The tournament was once held every five years as a way of creating ties between the other schools, but it was discontinued when the death toll grew too high. We have only been able to bring it back when we could give assurances of safety to potential Champions…. All that being said, the Tournament will still be potentially quite dangerous. Only the most knowledgeable and skilled of you will have what it takes to bring glory to our school. With that in mind, I recommend that only those in their sixth or seventh year put their name forth, but ultimately, the impartial adjudicator will choose the most worthy student."

Dumbledore paused once more, allowing the students' excited muttering to fill the room.

"I'm going to enter," Fred Weasley said excitedly from down the table. The thought of glory and riches shone in his eyes as he thought about winning the tournament. He wasn't the only person with a starry look on their face - Harry estimated that half the school was thinking the same thing.

Suddenly, as if feeling Harry's eyes on him, Fred turned to face him. "What'd ya think, Harry? You going to enter?"

"Me? Willingly looking for trouble?" Harry scoffed at the mere thought of such a thing. "It usually finds me, so I'd rather not. Plus I don't really need any more fame - I've got too much as is."

Fred nodded knowingly, and Harry took a second to actually think about the question. When it came down to it, he was famous mostly because his parents died to save him, which in of itself was an event that he couldn't remember except when Dementors were nearby. He didn't survive Voldemort's attack because of any special ability he had, rather, because of his mother's willing sacrifice enacting some sort of magic that no one really understood.

As he thought about it more, Harry realized that he _would_ like to be known for something other than the scar on his forehead. Being known for his own merit and skills as a wizard was something he had long since gotten over any hope of actually having…. but the tournament was a new opportunity. Plus, a thousand galleons was a fair sum.

Before Harry could dwell on the idea any longer, Dumbledore began speaking once again. "With the Triwizard Tournament, there come some extra caveats for the school year. Perhaps the most divisive of the potential changes is that there will be no official inter-House Quidditch League this year. Now, before you all get up in arms, let me say that this decision is based on the fact that our Quidditch stadium already has the required seating that will be needed to potentially house one or more of the Tournament's tasks. Also of note, is that one or more of the tasks may or may not involve a lot of preparation on our end, possibly rendering the Quidditch pitch unusable for weeks at a time. Thank you all for your understanding, and have a pleasant evening. You will receive your schedules tomorrow morning at breakfast."

With that proclamation, Dumbledore sat back down and engaged his deputy Headmistress in conversation while the furor of the room slowly began to grow. The decision to cancel the Quidditch league was never going to be a popular one, Dumbledore knew that, but it was something that had to be done. The excitement of the Tournament would have to be enough for the students, for the one year only.

Fred and George Weasley were already huddling together, muttering comments about the decision, and soon enough the whole Gryffindor house team was surrounding them, minus Oliver Wood, who had finished his schooling the previous year.

"He said official games are cancelled, didn't he?" George asked.

"Aye. He said nothing about unofficial games," his twin replied.

"But if they're using the stadium…" Katie Bell pointed out.

"The school year lasts nearly ten months. You think they're going to use it that whole time?" Angelina asked.

"No," Fred and George replied. Then Fred voiced his own thoughts. "If there's three tasks, I can't imagine having to need the field for more than a month for each one, that leaves a lot of extra time."

"Perhaps an unofficial inter-house quidditch league?" Angelina suggested. "We've done skirmishes in the past. What do you think, Harry?"

"It doesn't strictly even have to be house teams," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders. "We are down a keeper after all, and it would be odd to hold tryouts for a team that doesn't have any official games for the year."

"That's a good point," Angelina said, nodding her head in agreement.

"I'm always down for pick-up games," Katie said. "That way, there's less pressure on us individually, but we get to stay in form for next year. Especially if one of us manages to be chosen as a Champion."

"That's what I was thinking," Angelina replied. "We'll have to talk to McGonagall about the specifics of course, but that can wait until tomorrow."

Harry liked the idea. It wasn't really a particularly brilliant idea, all things being considered. They'd done pick-up games in the past, though usually on specific days such as the last day before Christmas break. Playing no-pressure quidditch just for fun was one of his favorite things to do when he visited the Weasleys over the summer.

As he thought about it more, the more it made sense. They didn't have a keeper, but from playing with the Weasleys enough, he knew Ron was pretty decent at it, and probably the best candidate to fill Oliver Wood's shoes. With some training, at least. He sure had enough passion for the game, even if his choice in professional teams was a bit suspect.

But, that was a thought for another day. The train ride had been long, the feast had taken forever, and the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament had exhausted his mind completely. Harry had never welcomed his old four-posted bed as much as he did that night.

Harry was back at Hogwarts, his true home. He'd never felt better.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note. This story is complete (110k words), and I'll be uploading a new chapter pretty much whenever I feel like. Probably once a day. If you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, feel free to yell at me. I went at this solo, so they're likely quite abundant._**


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had never been so excited to wake up early in his life… well, except for the start of his third year, and the start of his second year…. and the start of his first year. The feeling of waking up, and realizing that magic was real and that he was at his real home, at Hogwarts… It was almost beyond description.

Of course, then there was the reminder that he was at Hogwarts, and even with magic, some things just don't compare with the real thing… such as hot showers, modern plumbing and clicky pens. The first two were replicated convincingly enough with magic, with their own merits, but the third… not so much. Having completed three years at Hogwarts so far, he still hadn't really got the hang of a quill.

Regardless, there was no place he'd rather be than Hogwarts. Harry and the other boys got ready for the day, unsure as of yet which classes they would actually have. That wasn't really on their minds though, as they were all still excited about the Tournament that had been announced the previous night.

The breakfast feast was nearly as good as the feast from the night before, and it was one of the few times where the entire school was there at the same time, regardless of schedule. Ron sat to his right, with Neville to his left, and Hermione joined them, sitting across the table. She already had her head in a book.

Turning to Ron, Harry said, "I was meaning to ask you Ron, but coming from a wizarding family, do you know much about the Tournament?"

Ron shook his head, quickly filling his plate up with food. His appetite had not been diminished from the massive feast the previous night. "Not really, no," Ron replied. "Like, if you're asking about stories of task that is still talked about hundreds of years afterwards, I don't know any. But I know I have an ancestor named Archibald who once competed, though he didn't win. Other families probably are the same way, keeping track of that sort of thing. Being the second Weasley to be a Champion would be something, huh?"

"Do you know if any of my family has ever competed?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Sorry mate, I don't think so," Ron replied. "There's a huge plaque with past competitors on it in the Trophy Room - you remember when I had to clean that place up for detention? Maybe you can look there."

Hermione took that time to huff. "Honestly, have neither of you ever read Hogwarts, a History?" she asked.

Ron and Harry turned their attention to their friend, though Ron couldn't help but comment. "It looks like you're eating again, huh?"

"I've decided there are better ways to protest House-Elf slavery," Hermione replied snidely.

"Yeah, and you're hungry," Ron replied with a grin.

"Anyways," said Hermione, ignoring Ron's jibe. "If you had read Hogwarts, A History, you would know all about the Tournament. Not the specifics of every task for all one hundred and forty seven Tournaments, but you'd know that we've had six future-headmasters who had won the Triwizard cup, and several other future professors aside who have also competed. And you'd know that the death rate in the early years averaged more than one per Tournament."

"Yeah, but Dumbledore says it's going to be way safer," Ron stated. "There's no way it would be back if it wasn't. I'm thinking about entering."

"I'm thinking about it as well," Harry said, butting in and surprising Ron. "I spent all night thinking about it, as I'm sure many others did."

"You're crazy, both of you," Hermione argued. "The Tournament is meant for sixth and seventh years, not those who've hadn't even had a fourth year class yet."

"Yeah, but we've got to try, right?" Ron retorted. "I mean, I'm the sixth of my family to come through this school in the last decade - there's nothing I can do that hasn't already been done by one of the others…"

"And I want to be known for my own merits, rather than for this stupid scar that was the result of nothing I personally did," said Harry.

Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them. "You're not going to get picked just solely on how much you desire to be Champion. The Tasks can be very complicated, and I don't think any of us have the skills involved for them."

"Well, that's why you're going to help us," said Ron, grinning. "You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if one of us got in and got killed because we were unprepared, especially if there was something you could have done to help yet chose not to..."

Hermione glared at Ron. "Fine. But, if you want to take this seriously, you will follow my plan to the letter. Plus, if one of you two somehow managed to get picked as the Champion, and even more incredulously somehow manage to win the whole thing, I want a third of the prize."

Ron's grin didn't falter as he turned to Harry. "What do you say, you want to split this thirdsies if one of us goes all the way?"

"Sure, fine by me," Harry replied. "As long as we all put the effort in."

Hermione was already digging into her bag for a piece of parchment and a quill, and once she had them she began writing ideas down. "There are some basic spells we are going to have to learn. I've looked ahead at some of our future curriculums, of course, and know of a few of the spells that are taught, but haven't actually researched them yet… shielding, stunning, summoning… from what I know they shouldn't be too difficult to learn, but are likely more complex than anything we've done yet..."

"I can cast a Patronus Charm," Harry said, reminding them all. "And you've done the Polyjuice."

"And I haven't done anything worth noting," Ron said, still displaying his grin. "But that can change."

"Uh-huh," Hermione sighed, unconvinced. "You'll have to start learning OWL level spells, and beyond. It won't be easy."

"Nothing worth doing ever is," Harry said. "We lack the discipline and skill, but we've got two months to make up for that."

"And we've got the smartest, most cleverest witch in the year helping us," Ron replied. Hermione took that moment to slap his arm, just as McGonagall arrived with their schedules. McGonagall gave them all a stern look, but said nothing as she continued down the table, handing out the rest of the schedules.

"Herbology first thing today, and Care afterwards," said Ron, looking over his schedule. "Double Divination after lunch. Bollocks, who has ever heard of double Divination?"

"At least we don't have Potions yet," replied Harry. "What about you, Hermione? You're not still taking a million classes, are you?"

"No, last year was a little too much, even for me," Hermione replied, glancing over her own. She was already using a color-changing quill to underline her various courses. "No Divination, of course, not after what happened last year, and I've decided against continuing Muggle studies, for obvious reasons. I've only got one more course than you two now."

Herbology was not what Harry would call an interesting subject. Truthfully, it wasn't even that difficult to do well in, since mostly it was just about paying attention and not accidentally killing whatever it was they were working on.

It was also the only class that Neville Longbottom seemed to be any good at, frequently doing the best in the hands-on projects and on the tests as well. It sort of boggled Harry's mind how Neville could be so good at Herbology, but suck so much at Potions. Harry understood that Snape was an awful human being, but Snape _hated_ him and yet he still managed to get passing grades.

The first lesson of the year started out innocently enough. Professor Sprout, who had grown slightly wider and slightly grayer, went over the various types of plants they were going to work on during the year. Standard stuff.

It was dreadfully boring, truth be told, especially since the nasty storm from the previous night had blown itself away, leaving nearly everything damp and miserable. Still, there was no place he'd rather be than Hogwarts, even if that meant squeezing bubotuber pus into bottles for Professor Sprout to take to the hospital wing.

Herbology was replaced with Care for Magical Creatures an hour later, and the nasty smelling bubotubers were replaced with nasty looking… somethings.

Hagrid greeted the class outside his hut, holding his great hound Fang by the collar. Arrayed on the ground were several wooden crates, each containing a handful of creatures Harry had never seen before. They looked sort of like lobsters, or maybe scorpions, but they were definitely some sort of hybrid creature. They just didn't look natural, even by wizarding standards.

"Real beauts, ain't they?" Hagrid said, beaming at Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Just waiting for the Slytherins to arrive so I can tell you all about them."

"What, er, what exactly are they?" Harry asked curiously.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," said Hagrid, still smiling widely. He was quite possibly the only person on the whole planet who would smile at the thought of those creatures.

The rest of the Gryffindors gathered around them, but not a second later, Lavender Brown shrieked. "Eugh!" she yelled, flinching back as one of the Skrewts hissed at her, shooting sparks in her direction. Her foot got caught on a stick, and she stumbled backwards, right into Harry.

Harry, for his part, caught her, but not without almost getting a handful of Lavender's lovelies. He blushed as he quickly took his hands off her.

"Sorry Harry," she replied with a small giggle. "Surprised me, is all."

Harry nodded his head, but he didn't trust his mouth to talk. Lavender had grown quite a bit over the summer, and in all the right spots. She was one of the early bloomers in their year, something he was sure all the guys in his dorm had noticed.

The Slytherins arrived in short order, with Draco Malfoy strutting around at the head of their group, with Goyle and Crabbe at his side. Pansy Parkinson was busy chatting with Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis, while Millicent Bulstrode, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott followed closely behind without a care in the world.

Harry didn't have an opinion about most of the Slytherins, as most of them were quiet and kept to themselves, but Malfoy was quite outspoken, and a bit of a dick, which put them all in a bad light. Harry completely ignored the blond-haired boy as his group started whispering about the contents of one of the crates. They were likely making fun of Hagrid, and Harry really didn't want to get into a fight on the first day back.

"Looks like everyone's 'ere," Hagrid called out loudly. "Right. Well, welcome back to Hogwarts. Today yer going to be working with these Blast-Ended Skrewts. They're called such, because… er, they're Skrewts that 'ave an exploding stinger... Yer going to be raising them throughout the year."

"Raising them?" Someone asked. Harry turned to see who it was, and was unsurprised that it was Malfoy. "What for?"

"To learn," Hagrid replied simply. "Now, today, we're just going to be feeding them. I've never had them before, so I'm not exactly sure what they eat. That's yer jobs, to figure that out. Bits of snake, frog livers, various eggs... stuff like that…. now break up into small groups, no more than a handful per crate. Wouldn't want to scare them."

"Wouldn't want to scare them?" Lavender muttered. "Damn things scared the hell out of me."

Harry chuckled and followed Ron and Hermione over to where the "food" was set up. One look at the frog livers was all it took to call his friendship with Hagrid into question. If he wasn't such a good friend, Harry may had passed on the whole experience altogether.

Then, a second problem become apparent. The Skrewts didn't seem to have mouths, at least none that Harry could see. Nevertheless, Harry dropped a bit of food into the crate to see what happened.

As it turns out, a whole lot happened. The ones in Harry's crate seemed to be shooting sparks out at people, while others were trying to sting the students' fingers. Malfoy started bemoaning how pointless the whole thing seemed to be, and Harry started to privately agree, since none of them seemed to be eating anything at all.

The end of the period couldn't come fast enough, and Harry was starving for lunch. Hermione apparently was too, since as soon as they sat down, she started shoveling food down her throat.

"Whoa, slow down there Hermione, wouldn't want to puke now, would you?" Ron said, staring at how fast Hermione was eating. The leveled looked she returned could be interpreted as "as if you're one to talk."

Instead, what she actually said was, "I need to get to the library as fast as possible."

"Really? We've only been back for a day - we haven't even gotten homework!"

"I know," she replied. "There's just something I need to do."

Hermione only ate for another two minutes before she wrapped up, grabbed her bag, and turned to leave. "See you two at dinner," she said abruptly.

After she left, Ron turned towards Harry. "What's gotten into her?"

"Well, she seems normal," Harry replied. "Going to the library is what she does. I think she only has one more class today anyways, while we have double Divination."

"Uhg, don't remind me. You don't think this has something to do with House Elf rights, do you?"

"I think that's exactly what it's about," replied Harry, sighing heavily.

"I don't think she understands that it's not about getting paid," Ron replied. "Or days off. They love working, that's what they do, and they could quite possibly die if they don't work."

"They are pretty strange creatures," Harry agreed, thinking about Dobby. "She has to remember that they're not human, just like goblins don't share the same rights as us, nor do centaurs."

"Yeah," said Ron. "I mean, the Goblin's gained control of Gringotts, not because a muggleborn lobbied for their rights, but through bloodshed and warfare. The difference is that House Elves want to be servants, and changing that would only make them mutinous."

Harry nodded his head. He could definitely see why Hermione had such an issue with House Elves, but Harry knew that the Wizarding World was so backwards at times that it would take massive and controversial changes in legislature to get anything accomplished. It was a battle that Harry didn't want to fight, but he was sympathetic.

Getting to the Divination classroom from the Great Hall had always been a chore. Lunch was at ground floor, while the Divination classroom was up half a dozen long flights of stairs, with none of the staircases actually being near each other, and then climbing up a rope ladder. Only at Hogwarts would that be considered normal, and that was without considering the staircases themselves liked to move around.

It was a pain, and it only took five minutes of being within the smoky, aromatic and dimly lit classroom for Harry to grow bored of the class. He had no real interest in Divination, and was really only taking the course because Ron was, and it was easy. But, he didn't think Ancient Runes or Arithmancy would have been any more interesting - at least Professor Trelawney routinely predicting his death was amusing.

Trelawney started talking about how to read the "signs" by looking at the stars and planets, and about how some omens could mean war, or lost love… It was all a bunch of rubbish in Harry's opinion. Clearly wizards had no idea that muggles had actually been to the moon, and that the Earth wasn't actually the center of the universe. Then again, his Aunt Petunia religiously followed her horoscope, so it wasn't just a magical thing.

The only interesting thing about the class was how interested all the girls seemed to be. It was the favorite class of both Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, and the only thing that stopped Harry from drifting off in boredom were the occasional glances over at Lavender whenever she shrieked in excitement over something Trelawney said.

Homework was the worst part of the class. There had been none for Herbology (there rarely was), and none from Hagrid as well, but Trelawney had hit them with a big one, asking the class to analyze the planetary movements for the upcoming month and cross-reference them with their own personal charts.

Ron complained about the assignment all the way to the Great Hall, where Hermione joined up with them and promptly told them that she had gotten no homework at all. As they queued up to enter the Great Hall, someone shouted, "Hey, Weasley!" from behind them.

To no one's surprise, Malfoy was approaching them, with Crabbe and Goyle, and he was clutching a newspaper. He looked quite pleased about something.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron grumbled.

"Look, your father's in here," said Malfoy, throwing the paper at Ron's face. Ron grabbed the paper and began to read it, his face darkening with each paragraph.

"You see? You're family is nothing - they couldn't even get your dad's name right. Arnold!" Malfoy began laughing uncontrollably.

"Big deal," Ron replied. "This is a load of rubbish. Yeah, my dad had to help Moody out, so what? Are you upset that my family actually has to work for a living, where yours gets to run around in cloaks and white masks and torture muggles?"

Malfoy merely sniggered while pointing at the picture in the article. "Tell me something, Weasley. Is your mum actually that fat, or is it just the picture? Could do to lose a few pounds, don't you think? And look at that thing behind them - is that your house? Can you even call that a house?"

Ron was clutching the paper tightly, and he was starting to turn red.

"Are you bragging about having a hot mother, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "That's sort of what it sounds like. You know, if she didn't look like she was constantly smelling the shit that you and your father constantly stepped in, I wouldn't say no to a date with her."

"Don't you _dare_ talk about my mother like that," said Malfoy angrily, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

"Keep your mouth shut -"

Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and Harry dodged Malfoy's spell just as he was turning away from him. There were several shouts of alarm from the crowd, and Harry quickly reached for his wand. Before he could withdraw it, however, there was another shout from behind him, and another loud bang.

Where Malfoy had been standing, there was a white ferret on the ground, screeching in confusion and anger. And limping up from behind them, Mad-Eye Moody approached, wand in hand and a grim, yet satisfied, smile on his craggy face.

"He was going to curse you as you turned your back - a coward's move," Moody replied with a lopsided grin. "Did he get you?"

There was a stunned silence as Moody turned his attention to Harry. "No, I'm alright," replied Harry.

"LEAVE IT!" Moody suddenly shouted, alarming all of them.

"L-leave what?" Harry stuttered.

"Not you, "Moody said, spinning around with a speed that beleid his battered body. "Them. Don't. Touch. The. Ferret!"

Moody was pointing at Crabbe and Goyle, who had made to pick up the ferret - Draco. They paused when Moody yelled at them, and Moody, incensed, swished his wand and hit Draco with another spell, causing him to fly up in the air.

Astonished, Harry could only watch on wide-eyed as the professor hit him a few more times with the same spell. "Never - do - that - again," said Moody each time the ferret hit the stone floor.

"Alastor!" yelled a shocked voice. "Professor Moody!"

Professor McGonagall was coming down the main staircase, clutching an armful of books with an alarmed look on her face.

"Professor McGonagall," Moody greeted with a calm nod, bouncing the ferret one more time.

"What are you doing?" asked McGonagall.

"Teaching," Moody replied simply.

"Teaching - is that a student?" she suddenly gasped, getting a clear look at the ferret.

"Yup."

"NO!" she yelled. McGonagall put her books down, grabbed her wand, and with a swish, Malfoy reappeared, lying in a heap on the ground, clutching at his sides and looking quite dishevelled.

"We never use transfiguration as a punishment," admonished Professor McGonagall. "The Headmaster must have told you that!"

"Now that you mention it, I think I recall he may have said something to that effect, yeah," replied the grizzled professor, rubbing at his chin.

"We give detentions, or speak with their Head of House!"

"I'll make sure to do that then," replied Moody gruffly. "Me and ole' Snapey are overdue for a chat, I think…"

Moody grinned at the thought, picking Malfoy off of the ground. "He's an old "friend" of mine, you see," Moody continued. He took a hold of Malfoy's arm and began to lead him out of the Great Hall. McGonagall watched them leave anxiously as she gathered up her books.

Hermione turned to Ron to say something, but Ron quickly held up a hand to her face.

"Shh," said Ron. "Give me a minute. I want to burn this in my memory forever. Draco malfoy - the amazing bouncing ferret!"

They laughed for a minute, just as Ron's brothers joined them in queueing for the Great Hall.

"Moody!" said Fred jovially. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," George agreed as he began to pile food onto his plate.

"Amazing," Lee Jordan, their friend, agreed.

Fred turned to Harry and explained. "We had him this afternoon. Easily the best lesson we've ever had."

"Really?" asked Harry eagerly. "What was it like?"

"It can't have been better than him turning Malfoy into a ferret," said Ron, grinning ear to ear.

"Trust us, dear brother, it was much better than that."

"He's seen stuff," Lee said, confiding in them.

"He know's what it's like," said Fred.

"What 'what's' like?" Ron asked.

"To be out there and doing _it_." said George, clearly awed by the lesson.

"Doing _what_?" asked Harry impatiently.

"Fighting Death Eaters," replied Fred.

"He's done it all," concurred George.

"He didn't get all those scar working a desk, that's for sure," Lee said excitedly. "Bloody amazing, is what he is."

Ron's eyes lit up as he reached into his bag for his schedule. "Damn, we don't have him until Thursday!" he said with disappointment.

Harry merely nodded his head, trying to hide his own excitement. Moody would be loads better than Trelawney, that's for sure.


	3. Chapter 3

Thursday couldn't have come soon enough. Harry was even more excited than he had been on the first day of classes. It was a strange stroke of luck that Defense Against the Dark Arts would be the last core class for them to get to in the week.

Charms and Transfiguration had been pretty boring, though that was fairly typical for the first lesson of the year. The professors insisted on going over what they could expect for the year, such as various switching spells in Transfiguration. Charms class would have the bulk of real magic for them to learn, and Flitwick was a good teacher so Harry didn't mind the class too much.

Potions though… Potions was a special sort of hell. Snape dispensed with year-long plans and had them begin a potion in the first five minutes of being back. It just happened to be the same potion that had been on their third-year final, which no one had gotten perfect.

Snape seemed to be in even more of a perpetually foul mood than was usual, though Harry considered himself slightly lucky that the target of his enmity seemed to be Neville, rather than himself. They all agreed that Moody seemed to be the cause of Snape's bad mood, and when they all finally arrived at their first Defense lesson, the entire class was excited.

Every last student arrived early, even the ones from Slytherin. It seemed almost unfair, getting paired with the Slytherins for what seemed like half of their courses, but Harry didn't let that bother him that day.

Professor Moody wasn't there when they sat down, and the entire class shook with nervous energy as the start time of the class slowly approached. But quickly, they suddenly heard the clicking of Moody's wooden leg as he hobbled down the corridor. He paused for a second outside of the door, before suddenly smashing it open and jumping into the room, wand drawn.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody yelled, his gravelly voice echoing off the walls. Everyone jumped out of their seats, but Moody merely laughed to himself as he walked up to the front of the room, his wooden leg rhythmically thumping on the ground. It felt like eternity from the time it took Moody to enter until the time he got to his desk.

"You won't be needing those today," Moody said, gesturing to the books that were on everyone's desk - The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Defence. He took attendance next, which seemed too normal for a man like Moody to be doing. Finally, he seemed ready to start the lesson.

"Everyone's here, that's good," Moody said, putting the student list away. "This may be your most important lesson of the year, or perhaps the most impressionable. Now, I've gotten a letter from your last professor, Lupin. It looks like you're all up to date on dark creatures - grindylows, kappas, vampires… and werewolves. I guess he would be an expert on that, wouldn't he? Anyways, what you're all lacking in is actual magic. Curses, hexes, jinxes. The Dark Arts."

"You may know who I am, from the scars I bear. Mad-Eye Moody, people call me. But is it really madness and paranoia when they're really out to get me? I'm an ex-auror. More than a few of your classmates' parents are in Azkaban thanks to me, and I call myself fortunate to have retired with as much of my body remaining as I have. Retirement isn't something most people in my profession are afforded the luxury of. But, I've agreed to return for one year to help Dumbledore out."

"What, you're only here for a year?" Ron called out, surprising Harry.

"Aye, laddie. You're Arthur's son?" asked Moody. At Ron's nod he continued. "He helped me out of a bit of a spot a few days ago - good man, your father. Dumbledore asked me back for a year, and a year is what I've agreed to, and then I can finally retire for good."

Moody turned around and hobbled up to the front of the room in front of the blackboard, for everyone to see clearly. "As I was saying, the Dark Arts come in many forms, and what the Ministry considers to be dark magic changes as frequently as the full moon comes and goes. But I'm not here to teach you about semantics. Dark magic is used to kill, torture, and maim. No good can come from it. Some spells aren't particularly difficult, either, yet the feeling of power they give can be addicting. The power to rend asunder a man's chest with a single word… to control someone with a mere whisper… to kill with nary a thought..."

Mad-Eye Moody paused for a second to lift up the hem of his robe, revealing his wooden leg. "My leg here, I lost it to dark curse. Of course, there are plenty of spells that can be used to take off a limb, but not all of them are dark magic. You can tell the difference, because this one was impossible to heal. Dark magic has that effect, a lingering necrosis that negates attempts at healing. Sometimes it's temporary, lasting a few weeks, months, even years, sometimes it's permanent. Had I been hit with a normal severing curse, the leg could have been reattached, or even regrown… but I was not that lucky."

"My nose is a similar story," Moody continued, noting that every student was fixated on him as he spoke. "I can't smell anything but the stench of dark magic now, but that is a pretty useful skill to have, I'll admit. I've got a taste for it. A Death Eater named Rosier took that piece of me. Had I been any slower, he would have had my head. But here I am, and he is dead. My eye… you've all noticed it surely. Fiendfyre took it, and pretty much my entire face. Don't bother writing down _that_ spell - you won't find it in any book here at Hogwarts."

"The Ministry of Magic would prefered if I were to just teach you countercurses and leave it at that. They'd prefer if you'd never saw an illegal dark curse for the rest of your life. In fact, they'd prefer if dark magic didn't exist at all. But it does, and you have to know. It's no good knowing how to defend yourself, if you don't know _what_ you're defending against. A basic shield charm can block a basic stunning spell, but what about a spell that can boil the marrow from your bones, or turn your skin inside out? What's the spell to defend against that? Perhaps that's an extreme example, perhaps not. There's too many dark spells out there to possibly cover them all, but the bottom line is that you have to know what you're fighting against."

"So where do we start? That's easy enough. Most dark magic is enough to get you sent to Azkaban for some amount of time, but there are a set of spells out there that are worse than all the rest. Casting one on a human, regardless of reason, is a one way ticket to a cell where you will never see the light of day again. Does anyone here know which spells I am talking about?"

Hermione slowly raised her hand.

"Miss Granger, you know?" asked Moody, focusing both of his eyes on Hermione.

"They're called the Unforgivables. They're aptly named, I say. From what I've read about them at least."

"Read much about dark magic do you?" Moody asked with a savage laugh. "Worry not, curiosity is not a crime. The Unforgivable Curses are not usually covered until your NEWT year, but I feel that you need to know about them, and Dumbledore agrees. So, can anyone else tell me one of the three spells that will get you a instant life sentence?"

Ron tentatively raised his hand, much to Harry's surprise.

"Yes, Weasley, you got one?" Moody called.

"Um, my dad told me about one, I think," began Ron. "He called it the Imperius Curse."

"Good, yes. Your dad would know about the Imperius Curse. It caused all sorts of trouble at the Ministry during the war. So much so, that the effects of it are still felt to this day."

Moody leaned over his desk and pulled out a jar from inside a drawer. As he unscrewed the lid, he continued talking. "In the war, Aurors got special authorization to use the Unforgivables on our enemies, the Death Eaters. Trust me when I say it's not a pleasant thing, but when you see your partner who you've known for twenty years get cut down by dark magic, when all we're allowed to use is non-lethal magic to fight back, you grow to accept it, and do what needs to be done. I've been given special permission to show you what these spells look like."

He opened the jar onto the desk, and a spider crawled out of it. With a silent spell, the spider began to grow until it was visible for the entire class to see. Ron flinched back away from the desk, his arachnophobia having never abated, especially not after his encounter with Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest. There was something unsettling about an unnaturally giant spider, Harry would admit.

" _Imperio_ ," Moody growled, pointing his wand at the spider. Instantly, the spider froze mid-motion. But then, it stood up on its rear two legs and began dancing. A couple seconds later, it did a cartwheel across the table. The students started to laugh.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Moody said coldly. "To utterly and completely dominate another human with a single spell, so they will follow your every order. It's nearly impossible to detect, as well. Fifteen years ago, you could be going to work, and not know if your coworker was under the Imperius, just waiting for the command to attack. You could be going home to your wife, who kills you in your sleep while under the Imperius. Aurors could be put under, Unspeakables, Obliviators. Even the Minister… and you'd never know. Think about that, before you laugh at it again."

The class was completely silent as the spider stilled on Moody's desk, having been released from the spell. He shrunk it down and put it back into the glass jar.

"There _are_ ways to fight it," said Moody. "A strong mind can fight it - a person with great will power will be harder to control. The spell can weaken over time, or over distance as well. There are a few subtle signs you can look for. You'd think it'd be as easy as looking for strange behavior, but usually, you'll never know until the second it's too late, but there are signs. Glassy looking eyes, perhaps slight body twitches if someone is fighting back. Best way to fight it is to not get hit with it in the first place. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"The worst part is that if you are let go," continued Moody in a soft voice, "regaining control is even easier the second time. As an Auror, we had a set of guidelines and questions to ask to see if someone's been compromised, but that's for your homework. But, before that, we have a second and third Unforgivable Curse to go over. Anyone care to hazard a guess at another?"

No one answered at first,but, after a minute, Neville Longbottom, of all people, raised a shaky hand.

"Longbottom, is it?" said Moody, looking at Neville with speculation.

"Yes sir," he said in a small voice. "The Cruciatus Curse."

Moody focused on Neville with both of his eyes now, but nodded his head. "Yes. A nasty curse, this. On the surface, it doesn't look any more dangerous than an electrocution hex, but I assure you, it is far worse. Best if you see it with your own eyes.

The ex-auror pulled out another jar with another spider, and again, grew it to a massive size, twice as large as the last time. Then, Moody stood back and carefully aimed with his wand. The wand movement was quick and precise, and the words clear, yet harsh. " _Crucio!"_

Immediately, the spider twisted in on itself, screeching in pain with its legs curling up on themselves. Moody held the spell for a good ten seconds, and with each second, the spider's pain intensified until the point where it stopped moving. Moody quickly let the spell go when he saw the stunned looks on the students' faces. Some of them were almost in tears, and Neville was ashen-faced, his hand clutching the sides of his desk in a white-knuckled grip.

"The Cruciatus Curse. It was a favorite of the Death Eaters, and its singular use is to create pain. Pain like you've never felt, never dreamed could even exist. There's no need for thumbscrews or knives to torture someone when you can use the Cruciatus," said Moody, darkly. He took a second to shrink the spider and put it back into the jar. Evidently it was still alive. Even Ron looked on in sympathy.

"Exposure to the curse for even a few seconds will likely ruin your day. A few minutes, and you're unlikely to be able to hold a spoon steady for a week. After five minutes, you'll likely start to lose your mind and never live a normal day ever again. Longer than that, and well, you'll be eating through a straw. More than a few good aurors were tortured to insanity. A few of my friends. I hope none of you have to experience that curse. Now then, the last Unforgivable, and arguably the worst. Anyone know what it is?"

Again, no one answered for a long period of time, everyone was still stunned silent, but eventually, Hermione coughed to get her voice back, and raised her hand.

"Yes, Granger. You said you read about them - what is the third one?"

"Avada Kedavra - the Killing Curse."

Moody nodded his head grimly, "Aye. The worst of the worst. Most spells can kill. Everyone of you has been carrying a lethal weapon since the day you turned eleven and got your wand. This spell serves no benign purpose however. Its only use is to kill. If the Ministry even got so much as a whiff that you knew how to cast it, you'd be in deep trouble."

For a third time, Moody got out another glass jar with another spider in it. As if sensing its fate, the spider tried to escape Moody's grasp, but after a few seconds, he trapped it in his fingers and immobilized it with a spell.

Moody faced down the frozen spider. Slowly, he lifted his wand, and with brief and deliberate consideration, he roared, " _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

The reaction was immediate. The spider died instantly, flopping onto its side as the immobilization spell dissipated. The class, for their part, flinched back in horror, with Ron nearly toppling his chair over. Harry was stunned with disbelief, the green flash...

"It's not nice, and it's not pleasant," Moody said quietly. "There's no counterspell either - just two words and you're dead. There's only one person known to have survived it, and he's sitting right here in front of me."

Harry hunkered down in his chair as both of Moody's eyes bored into his own. He reddened slightly as everyone in the class turned to look at him. He stared at the wall, reliving what memories he had of that night, only accessible when a Dementor was trying to suck the happiness out of his being. There was a flash of green light, and then his dad was dead. A minute later, his mom was begging to spare his life in exchange for hers. Voldemort killed her with a flash of green light anyways, and then turned it on him...

"There's more to magic than just saying a few words and pointing a wand and getting an effect. If you haven't realized this yet, you will learn this soon enough. There's no better example than the Unforgivables. The spells themselves are pretty easy, that's why so many dark wizards and witches flock to them. Two words, and a person is dead."

"You heard me say the words, Avada Kedavra. You could know the wand movement as well - the spell is well documented. But that's not enough. All of you could point your wands at me and say the words, and I wouldn't get so much as a nose bleed. It takes real hate, and a bit of power, to cast this spell, and to invoke most dark magic. The urge to see someone utterly defeated and dead, to see them crushed and bleeding, perhaps just for the sport of it, perhaps not even for that. You-know-who got to the point where he had such disregard for life that he could cast the spell on a whim - a true monster."

"I take no pleasure in showing and telling you all this. I've dedicated my whole life to fighting the Dark Arts, so children like you don't have to worry. I've killed dark wizards, it's true, but even after all these years, it still takes something out of me, to call up the feelings to kill even a spider. Magic is sacred, it's who we are. To twist it and use it in such a manner is to do a disservice to ourselves. Something to remember if any of you stray from the path."

"I'm telling you because you need to know. You need to know what the worst of the worst is. You need to know what to do if you find yourself in a situation - CONSTANT VIGILANCE. Those are the three Unforgivables, and usage on a human will earn you a spot in Azkaban, and they'll throw away the key. That's what you're up against, and it's my job to teach you how to fight it. Now, for your homework, get your quills out…"

The end-of-class bell rang after a few more minutes of Moody discussing the curses, in which the entire class was silent. But once it rang and they were out the door, everyone broke out into hushed whispers.

"Did you see it twitch - ?"

"Bloody scary - "

"Two words man, two words and it's done - "

Harry hadn't found the lesson as entertaining as Fred and George had, let alone the others in his year. He was stony faced, but mostly contemplative. Neville, on the other hand, was shaking.

Hermione noticed this as well, and went to confront Neville, "Are you alright?" she asked, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Neville looked to be holding back tears, but replied, "Yes, I'm fine, thanks. A very interesting dinner, er lesson, uh… I mean… what's for dinner?"

Ron turned to Harry and gave him a questioning look. Harry shrugged.

"Neville - "

The sound of a wooden leg thumping behind them had them all turn to see Moody coming towards them. They watched apprehensively as the grizzled professor turned to address them, but it was with a softer voice than he had used in the classroom.

"It's alright, son," he said. "Why don't you come to my office for a cup of tea? Should help calm the nerves - it's not easy, I know."

Neville looked like he wanted to do anything _but_ be in an office with Moody at that moment, but he nodded his head.

"What about you, Potter, you alright?"

"I'm fine," Harry lied. "I didn't know that was the spell…"

Moody nodded his head in understanding. "Adults would rather none of you know any of this. But you've got to know. It seems harsh, perhaps, but there's no point pretending that this world is a nice place. You, more than anyone, deserve to know. Now, come on, Longbottom… I think I got a book that you might like."

Neville made eye contact with Harry and Ron, but they didn't say anything. He sighed, realizing that he had to go along with it. Moody place a hand on Neville's shoulder and whispered something into his ear as he led him towards his office.

"What was that about?" asked Ron, looking towards his friends.

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. "He looked torn up..."

"Crazy stuff," Ron replied. "Fred and George weren't wrong - I can't imagine anyone else actually showing us those spells. He really knows his stuff."

Ron took a look at Harry's face and immediately stopped talking, and didn't say anything until they reached the Great Hall.

* * *

The school days slowly ticked by after that, but none of them had been as impactful as the first lesson with Moody. They had taken more notes about the Unforgivables, and Moody had dropped a not-so-subtle hint that he would be testing the Imperius Curse on them, under Dumbledore's watchful eye, sometime in the future.

They had covered some other spells as well, with the first being the shield charm, _Protego_ , and the second one being the stunning charm, _Stupefy_. They had seen the second one before, at the World Cup when the Aurors nearly hit Harry and his friends with them by accident.

It was a standard-use Auror level spell, and Moody felt it was perhaps one of the most important spells for a witch or wizard to know. It was a non-lethal method of subduing, but easily reversible and mostly harmless unless you happened to fall onto something hard.

The second spell, the shield charm, was equally as important. It would stop most school-yard spells, including the stunning charm, and was the ideal manner in which to practice both. Of course, Moody explained the the prefered method of defense was to not get hit in the first place, but as he wasn't likely running anywhere with a wooden leg, he had to do what he had to do to stay alive. He also warned that it was useless against more powerful spells and that other charms would have to suffice, though some had very specific counterspells which would be learned later on.

Learning the spells had been a bit of fun, Harry would admit. They got in two lines, with one casting shield charms, and the other casting stunning charms. Once someone had their turn, they went to the back of the other line.

Getting hit with a stunning charm wasn't the most enjoyable experience. It was like getting knocked out cold, and then waking up all disorientated. It only took getting hit once for Harry to resolve himself to mastering the shield charm.

Charms class was covering a lot of spells as well. Harry, Ron and Hermione had lucked out a bit, since when Hermione made her practice list for the Triwizard Tournament, several of the spells on the list came up in classes fairly early. The shield charm had been on it, as had the summoning charm they learned early on in Charms, followed by its opposite, the banishing charm.

Their personal practice had been going pretty smoothly. They had taken to using various abandoned classrooms, always away from the commonly traveled hallways. Ron had even toned his complaints down to a minimum, at least regarding the spells themselves. But, when Hermione brought up her personal project, something she called S.P.E.W, that's when the boys started to get annoyed.

It was an acronym for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. When Hermione had first told them about it, they had thought she was joking, but that had only made her more determined. The only way they could get her to continue helping them was to join her club, which they did though they were the only ones to do so until she managed to coax Neville into it, despite his protests.

There were badges and everything, with different color badges meaning different things. There was a treasurer, chairman, and secretary, all of which happened to just be Hermione at the moment.

Harry and Ron put up with it because they both wanted to keep learning spells. Harry had a knack for learning new spells, but Ron would get them fairly quickly after seeing how they were cast close up. And although Hermione would often be the one finding a spell, that didn't mean she was an automatic master of them, and often times, Harry would learn it within minutes of reading it, such as with the Stinging Hex.

It wasn't about the individual spells, however. They decided that quantity was more important than quality. It was good and all that Harry could cast a Patronus, but that was just one spell with an extremely narrow use, while a seventh year would know a hundred more spells than him. It wasn't uncommon for them to knock out a dozen spells in a single night, in the hopes that whoever the impartial adjudicator was would be impressed with their wide array of off-curriculum knowledge, rather than just having a specialization.

They weren't the only ones preparing for the choosing. Fred and George were taking it very seriously as well, and could often be found huddled in a corner of the common room discussing the finer points of a spell. Angelina Johnson was another person also preparing quite hard. Harry hadn't heard much about the other houses, but he figured it was a safe bet that most of the other students in Angelina's year would be entering as well, and that was quite a bit of competition.

It did seem like they were the only ones in the fourth year preparing though. Most of the others realized that they weren't going to be skilled enough to have a chance, but Harry and Ron were quite determined. Harry confided this with Sirius, but the letter he received back near the end of October was a bit concerning.

 _Harry,_

 _I'm heading North immediately. I've been hearing a lot of strange rumours, and I've talked about it with Dumbledore. He sees the signs as well as anybody, if he managed to convince Mad-Eye to come out of retirement. The incident at the end of your last school year with Wormtail and the incident with the Death Eaters at the World Cup, something strange is happening and I want to be near you when it does. I may have failed Lily and James once before, but I will not fail them again._

 _Sirius_

That concerned Harry a lot. Sirius combing back to England would only put him at risk again, and both Hermione and Ron agreed with him. He had several sleepless nights after that letter, just dreading the headlines on the next day's newspaper. He did not want Sirius to get killed on account of him.


	4. Chapter 4

"What's everyone looking at? Harry asked groggily, coming down from his dorm room. He hadn't been getting as much sleep as he would have liked.

"Look, the date for the first Hogsmeade weekend has been posted," someone said to him. Harry wasn't sure who said it, but it sounded like Seamus.

Harry bustled into the crowd, which happened to mostly be third years who had never gone to the wizarding village before. Technically, Harry hadn't been able to officially go either, but this year, he had his signed permission slip. Not that not having that stopped him before, but being able to walk around without having to wear his invisibility cloak would be nice.

A few minutes later, Ron showed up, and a smile crossed his face when he heard the news. "Blimey, it's been awhile since I've had a butterbeer," he said.

"Next weekend, looks like," replied Harry.

They talked a little bit more about Hogsmeade as they got ready for the day. Their first class was Transfiguration, which was probably the hardest class they were both taking, ignoring Potions which theoretically wasn't hard, but Snape's presence arbitrarily increased the difficulty level, much to everyone's annoyance.

As they were walking down to breakfast, Harry decided he wanted to confide in Ron. "I was thinking… maybe inviting a girl to Hogsmeade…"

Ron completely stopped walking, right in the middle of the hall. "You mean, like on a date?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Yeah, I don't know."

"You have a girl in mind?" Ron asked curiously, starting to walk again. "If you say it's my sister, I'm going to punch you. I'm just letting you know that now."

"Ginny?" said Harry. "No, I've barely spoken to her all year."

"Oh, okay," said Ron, relief clearly visible on his face. "Then who?"

Harry nodded and leaned in close to Ron, to make sure no one would overhear. "I was thinking... maybe Lavender Brown."

Ron let out a small laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, it's just that you don't really have anything in common with her. It's 'cause she's got big tits, isn't it?"

"You noticed?"

"Mate, every guy from second year through seventh has noticed," Ron replied. "I'm not saying that's a bad reason. Blimey, it's a good enough reason, in my opinion. If I was a Slytherin, I'd have half a mind to ask Tracey Davis for that same reason."

This time, Harry laughed. "Yeah, good luck with that."

"Yeah, that would be a long shot," Ron agreed. "When are you going to ask her?"

"I don't know," admitted Harry. "I've never really done something like this, you know? If you got any pointers…"

Ron shrugged. "I don't think I'm going to be any help with that. Perhaps you can ask one of my brothers for advice if it troubles you."

"That's not a terrible idea," replied Harry.

They spoke no more of it as they joined up with the other students, waiting to get into the Transfiguration classroom. It was the only class they shared with the Ravenclaws this year, and Harry quite enjoyed that. It beat having to deal with Malfoy, plus they were smart.

McGonagall started off the class like she usually did, which meant a lecture on what they would be working on that day. Harry diligently wrote his notes and recorded the examples, before they were finally ready to begin the transfiguration itself.

They were working on transitive properties of transfiguration. They would transfigure one object, and then use a switching spell of that object with another, with the switched object retaining the transfigured properties. The real goal was actually mastering switching spells, which was something they would be working on for most of the semester, at least according to the professor.

McGonagall showed off the two items, one being a ink pot, and the other, a water pitcher. Then, with a swish of her wand, she transfigured the pitcher into a gas lantern. With one more swish and a flick at the blackboard, an identical image of the final transfiguration magically appeared on the board. The goal was to do the transfiguration, and then when the ink pot and transfigured gas lantern were switched, the switched object would retain its transfigured form.

"You have the rest of the class to get this done. Whoever comes closest will receive five points for their house. You may begin."

Harry didn't do a good job. He was too distracted by his conversation with Ron about the Hogsmeade weekend. He took a surreptitious glance over at Lavender, who was also struggling with the transfiguration.

Truthfully, they really didn't share any common interests that Harry knew of, though he didn't really know her all that well. Perhaps better than most, since they had shared most of their classes together, but still not all that much. That's what a date was for, anyways, Harry decided.

The class ended quickly enough, as McGonagall tended to ramble a little bit, and naturally, Hermione was the only one who managed to get any decent results out of the spell. Sometimes, Harry wondered how his best friend didn't end up in Ravenclaw.

Harry caught a lucky break as they were heading to lunch, as they came across Fred and George discussing something in hushed whispers, which was a fairly normal occurrence. Hermione was off to the library to research more about House Elves, and Ron was pretending to be a lookout.

"Hey guys," said Harry, walking up to the twins. Ron gave him an encouraging nod.

"Well, isn't it our favorite honorary Weasley," said Fred with a grin.

"Also, the only honorary Weasley, so not much competition," said George.

"Hermione hasn't qualified yet?" Harry asked.

Fred shrugged and asked, "It looks like you want to ask us something. Go on then."

"You have something mischevious you need our famed help for?" asked George.

"I don't know about mischievous…" Harry said slowly.

"Ah. Something requiring our immense intellect then."

"Well, not as such."

"Hm, well, don't keep us in suspense. Ask."

Harry leaned in close so no one could overhear him. "I'm looking for some pointers on how to ask a girl on a date. The Hogsmeade weekend is next week…"

"I see," said Fred with a grin. George slowly followed suit. "Well, it's easy. You just ask them."

"Just… ask them?"

"Yup," agreed George. "They don't really like it when you play games. Well, some do, but most just like it when you're straight forward with them."

"That's it?"

Fred shrugged. "I don't know what else you were expecting. Just ask them, if they say no, move on to greener pastures."

"You still eying up Chang?" asked George.

"Word is that Diggory is trying to make a move on her," Fred finished.

"No…" Harry said slowly. "I didn't even think about her - she's older so I doubt she would have said yes. No, I was thinking about someone from my year."

"Hey, listen, I'm going to put this as bluntly as possible," said Fred, suddenly becoming serious. "I know you don't like your fame and all, but nearly every girl in this school would agree to date you on that fact alone. I know it's not your style, but it's something to think about if this doesn't work out for you."

"I bet the Head Girl would agree to a date, if she was single," George agreed.

"I doubt that," replied Harry speculatively.

"Perhaps not, but it's something to keep in mind."

"Well, thanks for your help. I think I'll try after lunch."

"Good luck."

Harry went over to where Ron was looking out the window, staring at the Quidditch pitch longingly. "You know, Dumbledore just said official games were cancelled. He said nothing about unofficial games."

"I know," Ron said with a sigh. "But who's going to organize it?'

Harry shrugged. "Maybe Angelina. I think she has her eye on the captain's badge now that Wood is gone."

"So, what did my brothers say?" asked Ron.

"They said to just ask her, and to not beat around the bush."

"It's as easy as that?"

"Supposedly," replied Harry. "I just hope my famed Gryffindor bravery won't fail me."

Ron laughed. "C'mon, you faced down a basilisk, I think you can face down a girl."

"I'm not likely to get petrified, but I suppose it's possible," Harry replied with a small laugh of his own. "Let's go to lunch.'

As it turned out, as soon as he sat down, Harry lost his appetite, and his nerves kicked in. He wasn't even sure _why_ he wanted to ask Lavender out on date. She was quite pretty and above average in intelligence, at least when she put her mind to it, but other than that, her interests in fashion and mysticism weren't things Harry could relate to.

Small details, Harry thought. It was quite possible that they had more in common than Harry thought, but he wouldn't know that unless he tried to get to know her.

Lunch passed quickly, with Harry barely eating a bite. Hermione didn't seem to notice, with her attention focused solely on the book in front of her. It was hard to tell if she was researching House Elves, or finding new spells for them to try out in preparation for the Tournament. Ron would give Harry a comforting nod whenever Harry looked his way, but it didn't really help.

Finally, lunch was over, and they made their way to Defense against the Dark Arts. They began to queue up, and Harry took that time to make his move. He gave a nod to Ron, who began his part of the plan, to distract Hermione for a minute.

Lavender was talking with Parvati Patil, which wasn't really a surprise. Quickly, he tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around. She had a very pretty face, with a small, angular nose, and cheerful blue eyes. Her sandy blonde hair was done up in a somewhat elaborate ponytail.

"Hello Harry," Lavender said with a small questioning smile.

"Hey Lavender," said Harry, trying to keep calm. "I was wondering if I could ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Right, well, um, I was wondering if you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

Lavender giggled. "Like, on a date?"

"Yeah," confirmed Harry.

"Alright then," Lavender said with a smile and a nod. There was a slight blush on her face.

Harry smiled back. "Cool."

Mad-Eye Moody chose that moment to appear, clunking down the hall with a key in his hand. He quickly unlocked the door and ushered the students in. As Harry took his seat, Hermione leaned over to speak with him

"Did you… just ask Lavender Brown out on a date?" Hermione asked, whispering in confusion.

"Yeah. What of it?"

"Nothing… I just didn't think you had it in you."

"Me either," Harry admitted.

"Well, how'd it go?" asked Ron. He was grinning ear to ear.

"She said yes," said Harry with smile.

"Of course she did," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "Who would say no, unless they were already spoken for?"

Harry and Ron both shrugged, and the class began shortly after that.

"Today is going to be a practical class," Moody said in a gruff voice. "Not in the traditional sense though, none of you will need your wands for this lesson. We have a special guest as well, to oversee it."

The "special guest" took his cue and came through the door. It was Headmaster Dumbledore, though perhaps he was acting more like a professor today.

"Our esteemed Headmaster has agreed to supervise today's class while we go over the Imperius Curse. I've gotten special dispensation to apply the curse upon each one of you in turn, and you will attempt to break free. Anyone here is allowed to opt out, if they wish."

Dumbledore stepped forward to add his own thoughts. "The Imperius Curse is, in many ways, the most dangerous of the Unforgivables. It leaves no scars, causes no pain, yet perhaps is the most devastating spell an individual could use. I feel it is important that everyone can at least recognize the feeling the curse gives you when it is applied. You may feel lightheadedness, giddiness, even euphoria… You may be forced to do something you'd never dream of doing, or you may be forced to do something that you'd normally do anyways in order to lull you into complacency. For example, with the Imperius Curse, you could force someone to sit down at lunch and eat their meal normally. The victim is unlikely to resist this, if they even realized they are being manipulated at all. Some of the most adept users could cast so subtly that the victim never knew they were a victim. This is why I feel it's important that you understand this curse."

"Thank you Albus," Moody said with a nod. "In order to defend yourself against the Dark Arts, you truly need to know what it's like to be on the other side of the wand. If anyone wishes to opt out, now is the time to raise your hand."

No one raised their hand.

"Good, good," said Moody. "Breaking out of the Imperius Curse is not easy. In fact, it may be the most difficult thing you will ever do, but it's not impossible. Aurors are trained to resist and, and I feel that by the end of the class, at least one of you will be able to."

To Harry's dismay, Moody was going by alphabetical order, and Lavender Brown was the first one on the list. Nervously, she walked up to the front of the room and stood still.

"Ready, lass?" asked Moody.

Lavender nodded her head once and shut her eyes tightly. With a quick flick of his wand, Moody chanted, _"Imperio!"_

The effect wasn't instantaneous, but the class could slowly see the magic take hold, when Lavender was acting and moving normally, with slow breaths, until the point where her movements weren't quite _natural,_ not quite in sync.

Her body jerked around a little bit, and her head tilted a little bit to the side. With quick little motions, she darted around the room, like an animal searching for something. It reminded Harry a little bit of a squirrel, and it took a bit of effort to not laugh, instead he had to hid his grin behind his hand, though some of the other classmates couldn't help but laugh.

The spell only last for thirty seconds or so before Moody let it go, and Lavender returned to her normal state. She stood back up straight and blinked a few times, taking in the sight of the class all staring at her. She blushed furiously and quickly hurried back to her seat.

"Well, lass, tell us what it was like," said Moody. "Describe the feeling."

"It was odd, at first," Lavender replied, trying to regain her composure. "It was like I could feel another presence slowly working its way into my mind, and there was little I could do about it. I've never felt something like it. Then, it was like it started whispering to me, telling me to do, though it was more like suggestions than commands. I… I couldn't help myself. I could still see and hear everything I was doing, but I couldn't stop it."

"If I cast the curse again, do you think you'd be able to try and fight it?"

"I think so," Lavender said with contemplation. "Now that I know what it feels like, I could at least try."

"Good," Moody replied. "I'll give you a few minutes to rest while the rest of the class gets their chance."

Next up was Millicent Bulstrode, who sung like an opera singer within seconds of Moody applying the Imperius. A few of her classmates came after that. Crabbe acted like a gorilla, though Harry couldn't imagine that it took much coercion for that. Tracey Davis went next, performing an Irish jig, much to the amusement of her her friend Daphne Greengrass. Goyle, much like Crabbe, imitated an animal, this time a bear.

Seamus, Hermione, and Neville all were coerced into doing amusing tasks as well. Neville had to dance around the room, performing acrobatic cartwheels that would not have been possible otherwise. Seamus sung an old drinking song, clearly showing that Moody had a sense of humor, hidden under his craggy, scared face.

Harry wasn't sure what he had expected with Hermione. So far, no one had even shown the slightest signs of being able to resist or fight off the curse. If anyone could do it, in Harry's opinion, it would have been Hermione. But, she, like the rest of their classmates, were put under quickly, and she ran around pretending to be a cat. Harry found it funny enough, but seeing his friend like that was a bit worrying, so he did his best to hide his amusement.

"Potter," Moody called out. "You're next."

Harry did what the others had done, and walked up to the front of the room, under the watchful gaze of Dumbledore.

"Imperio!" Moody shouted.

Harry felt lightheaded as soon as the spell hit him. There wasn't a visible spell flare, but somehow he felt the magic slowly wash over him and invade his body. It was sliding into his mind, slithering like a shadowy snake and invading his thoughts.

Then, there was a voice, or what his brain interpreted to be a voice. A mental suggestion, maybe.

 _Jump onto the desk…_

It sounded vaguely like Mad-eye Moody, but very far away, and it seemed like it echoed within the confines of his skull.

Harry found himself bending his knees, preparing to jump

 _Jump onto the desk…_

Right as he was about to jump, a thought crossed his mind, this time his own.

"Why?"

 _Jump onto the desk…_

"No, I don't think I will," Harry replied.

The voice got stronger in his mind.

 _Jump onto the desk!_

"No, you can't make me!"

" _JUMP! JUMP NOW!"_

The voice was more incessant that it had ever been, coming on loud and commanding, and Harry felt himself flying through the air. He didn't jump, but he toppled over onto the desk. He felt the spell's influence leave immediately.

"Potter fought!" Moody exclaimed to the class. "Did you see that? Good, good! He resisted!"

Harry gasped in pain as he regained full control of his movements. He stared at the class a bit groggy from where he had crumped onto the table.

"What did it feel like, Potter?" Moody asked with interest.

"Feels like I bloody well broke my knee caps," Harry replied tersely.

"But you resisted," Moody said with a small laugh, clasping him on the back and helping him back onto his feet. "I told you to jump onto the table, and you refused. Ended up botching it, but I reckon with with a few more goes, you could throw it off completely. What do you say?"

"Alright," Harry agreed with a small nod. "Sure."

A 'few more goes' ended up turning into half a dozen, but by the end, Harry managed to throw Moody off completely. He didn't think Moody was going full out, as the ex-Auror seemed quite proficient with the illegal spell, but by the time Harry was throwing it off, he was dead tired. It was both mentally and physically exhausting. The bell rang before the rest of the class could have their turn, but Moody just postponed the rest until the next class, with Dumbledore's permission.

Dumbledore stayed behind in the class to share some words and thoughts with Moody, and Harry, Hermione and Ron left on their own. Harry hadn't truly broken any bones, but he was sore. "You think with how he goes on and on," said Harry, "that we're going to be attacked at any second or something."

"I know," Ron replied. "That looked awful. I'm glad I didn't have to go today… that's first time being a Weasley has actually helped with anything since it start's with a "W". Moody's not wrong though. It can't be paranoia if someone actually is trying to get you."

Harry shrugged. "So, I've been hit by two of the three Unforgivables now. When do you think I'll finish the set?"

"Harry!" Hermione admonished, hitting his arm. "What a thing to say!"

"Well, it's only a matter of time, right?" said Harry. "I mean, Wormtail escaped at the end of our third year, and then a month later, Death Eaters attacked the world cup. Then there's those dreams I've been having."

"There's nothing saying that those are connected," Hermione pointed out.

"Isn't there though?" replied Harry. "Trelawney spewed that prophecy last year about a "servant rejoining his master". She's still a fraud, but you spew enough nonsense and eventually you'll be right. And Sirius seemed to be thinking along the same line."

"I suppose," said Hermione, begrudgingly relenting.

After an uneventful dinner, the three Gryffindors made their way to their secret practicing location. With liberal usage of his Marauder's Map, Harry was easily able to ascertain whether or not their hideout was clear.

As to that, with a critical and practiced eye, Harry gazed over the normal locations. Professor Flitwick was in Dumbledore's office. Professors Vector and Sinestra were in the north wing, attending to their respective clubs. Snape was brooding down in the dungeon. Pomfrey was in the hospital wing, attending to a pair of second years. Filch was patrolling on the second floor, practically on the opposite side of the school.

The last name he looked at was Moody, and it was in the office, as expected. There was a dot labeled Bartemius Crouch next to him. It was odd to see the Ministry official there, but it was actually the second time Harry had seen him. Harry figured that Crouch was likely discussing tournament security with the grizzled ex-Auror. There was likely no one better to consult with over matters like that, not with what Harry had seen of the man at the World Cup. And with Moody's reputation… Harry didn't think about it too much.

"We're all clear," Harry told his friends, packing away the Map into his pocket. The room they were using was little more than a disused Transfiguration classroom. Hogwarts had dozens of disused classrooms, reminiscent of a time when there was a lot more students at the school, and more than one teacher per subject. Two world wars and Voldemort's rise to power did quite a bit to quell the magical population.

All the desks were stacked against one wall, and another wall had cupboards filled with old materials, books, broken quills, and other items to be used for transfiguration practice. A layer of dust coated the floor, except in spots where they had walked in previously.

To be on the safe side, Hermione locked the door with a spell and a proximity alarm that would alert them to someone coming. They weren't doing anything against the rules, but that didn't mean they wanted to get accosted by every random student looking for a quiet spot.

"So, what have you got for us tonight?" asked Ron.

"I was thinking of two spells. One is learned later this year, while the other is NEWT level spell. I found them by looking through old school books, and they look quite powerful."

"Alright, what are they?'

"The first one is the Reductor Curse," Hermione replied, taking on a professorial tone. "It's a mid-power spell used to smash things. I don't think we'll have a problem learning it, but it could be dangerous. Here, I made copies of the wand diagram sheet."

Ron and Harry both took a sheet and began to read it over. It wasn't a difficult spell, but it would take some power to get an appreciable effect out of it. In the interim, Hermione went into the cupboards and started pulling out old dented inkpots for them to use as target practice.

"I think I've got it," Harry said after a few minutes. "A soft half moon with a swish and jab. Reducto is the incantation."

"Go for it," encouraged Hermione.

Harry took up his wand, holding it comfortably in his hand. The spell was a powerful one, and needed a steady and firm grip. Precision was not as important, as the spell had a fair-sized effect radius.

With a half-moon done deliberately but smoothly, finishing with a swish and a swift jab, _"Reducto!"_ quickly turned the entire desk into rubble, not just the assembled ink pots. Harry jumped backwards in surprise, not expecting such devastation.

"They're teaching this spell to all students?" Harry asked in surprise.

Hermione rolled her eyes and quickly set about repairing the damage with a few spells. "It's wood, what did you expect? Try it on stone or metal, and it won't be as dramatic."

"My turn," Ron said with a grin. "It's not often that we get to blow stuff up on purpose."

As Ron prepared himself, going through the wand motions, both Harry and Hermione took a couple extra steps backwards, knowing that anything Ron did was liable to go horribly wrong, but in an exciting fashion.

Ron's quick wand work, followed by _"Reducto!"_ resulted in much the same mess as Harry's spell. With triumph, Ron turned back to his friends, only to see them leaning up against the far wall.

"Hey, what are you doing all the way back there?" asked Ron.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione quickly said, once again fixing the desk.

"Are you going to have a go?" Harry asked.

"I already know it. But I'll try the next one. It's sixth year stuff, but I haven't even looked over the wand diagram.'

"What is it?"

"It's calling the Blasting Curse. It blows stuff up."

"Isn't that what we just did?" Ron asked in confusion.

"Well, sort of. This spell _actually_ blows stuff up - with fire and everything. Or so this passage claims. It's very powerful and can severely hurt someone if you're not careful."

"That's why we're practicing in a group," Harry said with a nod. "In case something goes wrong, we know who to blame."

Hermione rolled her eyes again, but quickly passed out the pieces of parchment containing the spell.

"It doesn't seem that complicated," Harry said, looking it over. "Perhaps even simpler than the first spell."

"Well, often times it's not the spell itself that determines when it's taught. Perhaps it's to do with the moral implications, and when the professor thinks we're ready to handle such a powerful spell."

"Maybe," said Harry.. "Moody and Dumbledore thought we were ready to see the Unforgivables, so I guess that means we're ready to see anything."

"I doubt that," replied Hermione. "There are worse spells than those. I mean, not worse as in what they do, but in the effects they generate. The Imperius has no flare, no drama, and the Killing Curse does exactly that. Sure, the Cruciatus is pretty awful, but no one's been directly killed by it. There's a spell that can make you bleed out of everywhere - your ears, nose, your fingernails. Even your old chap."

"My old chap?" Ron repeated dumbly.

"Your penis," Hermione bluntly stated.

"I know that!" Ron snapped. "I just didn't think you would say that."

"Anyways, the spell leaves a lot of blood everywhere. It's very messy, and very painful, but it usually doesn't kill unless the spell goes untreated for awhile. There's counterspells to reverse the damage, or at least, lessen it, and that's why it's not as dangerous as the Unforgivables, but it's probably worse to get hit by it."

"I don't know, I'm not sure how anything can be worse than death," said Ron.

"Getting your soul sucked out by Dementors is a fate worse than death," Harry stated. He had heard that phrase tossed about often enough the previous year.

Ron shivered at the thought. "Can we get back to the spell? And let's not talk about bleeding out of my old chap."

Harry grinned, and the three of them got to practicing the new spell. They wanted to be absolutely sure they had the wand movements down right, before actually casting it. A fast three-quarter spiral with a whip finish. Just going through the motions made it feel like a powerful spell.

After fifteen minutes, Harry decided he was ready. "How far do we have to stand back?" he asked.

"We'll up-end the desk and use it as a shield," said Hermione. "Try using the spell on a chair."

Harry levitated a chair off the stack and placed it in the center of the room. Then, he regulated his breathing as he concentrated. The spell was nowhere near as complicated as the Patronus Charm, yet the Patronus Charm did very little outside of uses against a select few dark creatures.

"Confringo!" Harry yelled, aiming at the chair. There was a whooshing sound, followed quickly by the sound of exploding splinters flying all over the place, some of them flaming. Harry had to duck as one of the chair legs ricocheted off the ceiling.

"That was bloody wicked, mate," Ron replied, grinning ear to ear as he peered over the desk he had used for cover. There was a black sooty ring on the ground where the chair had once been.

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked. "You're on fire!"

Ron looked down at his sleeve, where a small ember had slowly started to smolder. He quickly pat it out, looking up sheepishly. Hermione quickly averted her attention using her wand to put out the small flaming pieces of debris before an actual fire started.

Upon looking at the remains of the chair, Harry commented, "I don't think a repairing charm is going to be enough to fix this."

Ron chuckled, but Hermione was the one that answered. "This hasn't been used as a classroom since the 60's. No one's going to notice."

"If you say so," replied Harry jovially, smiling at the destruction. "It's your turn then."


	5. Chapter 5

Lavender Brown was waiting for him in the common room. Ron and Hermione were respectfully keeping their distance, but Ron couldn't keep the grin off his face, as if Harry's blundering attempts at talking to a girl were extremely amusing.

"You look great today," said Harry, looking over Lavender who was wearing a casual summer dress. It wasn't summer any longer, but chances were that today would be one of the last nice days of the year. "Actually, you look great every day."

That comment got a smile from Lavender. "You look good too, Harry. I see you managed to do something with your hair."

"Controlled messiness," Harry confirmed with a nod. They made their way down to the front hall, making polite small talk. He was trying to not lapse into awkwardness, but he felt like he knew enough about her to feel semi-comfortable in her presence. He was actually shocked that her friend Parvati was nowhere to be found. Lavender told him that she was going to hang out with her twin sister, Padma, who was a Ravenclaw. Harry was thankful of that.

On the carriage ride over to the village, Harry decided to admit something to Lavender. "I've never been on a date before," he said. "So if I do something wrong, let me know."

"I've never been on one before either," Lavender replied. "So if we can both figure it out at the same time. Okay?"

"Right," Harry replied. He felt a little bit more comfortable now that was out of the way.

"This is your first time in Hogsmeade, isn't it?" Lavender asked. "I remember hearing something about you not being able to get your permission slip signed last year."

"Yeah. I live with my aunt - my mom's sister - and my uncle. They're muggles, and sort of hate anything to do with magic, and they're against anything that would make me happy, so they never signed the slip. But, they're the only family I got, so it is what it is."

"How did you get them to sign it this year?" Lavender asked curiously. She smartly didn't comment about his relatives' treatment of him.

"One of my dad's friends signed it for me. McGonagall decided that that was good enough, so here I am, with the prettiest witch in our year."

Lavender giggled as she rolled her eyes. "I must warn you, Harry, that I am extremely susceptible to flattery."

Harry grinned. "It's not flattery if it's the truth. Oh, and I should mention that I have actually been to Hogsmeade before. Fred and George Weasley showed me a secret passage to get into the village, and I had to use my invisibility cloak to walk around. It was in the middle of winter and snowing, so I didn't get to see much, truthfully. Though, I did get to annoy Malfoy a bit."

"That was you who ambushed Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle with snowballs? No one could figure it out, but it was sooo funny to hear about. Also, you'll have to show me that secret passage, but only after I give you the official Lavender Brown Tour of Hogsmeade," Lavender exclaimed, splaying her arms out dramatically.

"I can't wait," Harry replied, giving her a small smile. As if on cue, their carriage ride stopped, and the door opened. Harry got out first, and held his hand out to help Lavender get down. Once she was on solid ground, Harry noticed that she didn't let go of his hand, but he didn't say anything. It took a lot of effort to not break out into a full-blown smile.

Hogsmeade, being the only completely magical village in Great Britain, was actually pretty small. Most of the residents' income came from these Hogwarts weekend trips, and it wasn't a great recipe for long-term success.

The first building Lavender deemed worthy of stopping in front of was the Three Broomsticks. It was the largest and busiest of the buildings in the town, with the exuberance from the patrons noticeable even from some distance away.

"They've got the best food in town," Lavender said, pointing at the wooden sign what had three broomsticks mounted to it. "Great drinks too - I don't know if you've had butterbeer before, but it's delish."

"I've had it twice," Harry admitted. "But it's been months. I wouldn't say no to that."

"After we hit the shops," said Lavender. "Everyone ends up there anyways, and for good reason. Now, over there on the other side of Honeyduke's is Zonko's. They make a lot of joke supplies - if I didn't know better, I'd say your friend's brothers are likely to take over the business someday, with all the money they spend there."

"They actually make a lot of their own stuff," Harry replied. "But I know they do sneak down here quite often whenever they need to prank Slytherins with dung bombs and stuff like that."

"Do you want to go there?" asked Lavender.

"If you don't mind," Harry replied. He hadn't really had a chance to see the shop when he was there last time.

"It's fine," Lavender replied. "I like seeing what new things they come out with, if only so I know what to be on the look at for. Parvati loves this place, since they carry the color changing nail polish that she loves."

Harry nodded his head as they entered the shop. There were several students already there, and a few of them spotted Harry holding hands with Lavender. If they wanted to comment about that fact, they didn't show it, instead they smiled and said hello.

The shop was old and dusty, yet still had a jovial atmosphere There were crates upon crates stacked up upon shelves in the walls. Each crate held something different, something exciting. The first one Harry looked in contained what looked like vampire fangs, and the second, party poppers.

They spent around fifteen minutes in the shop, though the only thing Harry ended up buying for himself was a shape-changing saucer, which would turn into a spider when a certain phrase was said. He'd have to get Ron with it, but truth be told, everything in the shop paled in comparison to his invisibility cloak and Marauder's Map. He'd let Fred and George do their thing with fireworks and stink bombs - Harry had a wand that worked just fine.

Lavender got a few things for herself, including a flashing hair-band and a few other odd vanity products. Harry offered to pay, but Lavender politely declined. They decided that that wasn't really first date type of behavior, and Harry didn't want to come off like he was trying to buy her affection.

There were a few other shops that Lavender wanted to show Harry. The next on her list was the one that Harry knew Hermione spent most of her time in - Scrivenshaft's. Like the rest of the buildings in the town, Scrivenshaft's seemed purposefully antiquated, as if it was built to look old.

They didn't go into Scrivenshaft's at first, but instead they stopped by Gladrag's which was right next to it. The two buildings looked very similar, and only the front window display and sign distinguished the two.

"I'll try not to spend too much time in here," Lavender said, shooting Harry a grin. "I don't need too many things, since we've only been at Hogwarts for a month so far."

A month was a long time for a fourteen year old, as it turned out. Harry had grown half an inch, maybe more, although Ron was soaring right past him and would likely be as tall as Hagrid by the end of the year.

Harry only picked out a couple shirts he liked. Hogwarts had a dress code that had to be followed during the week, but when there were no classes, namely on the weekend and during holidays, students could wear whatever they liked.

Shopping at an actual store wasn't strictly necessary, but it was nice to have a change of scenery. It was too simple to just temporarily alter a pair of trousers to add an inch to the legs, but there was always the worry of the magic fading and getting caught in clothes three sizes too small overnight.

There was also the ability to just fill out an owl-mail form. He and Lavender had passed the owl-post office already, and that was the primary way to purchases good from inside Hogwarts. If a student ran out of ink or quills, filling out a quick mail-order form and sending it could mean a resupply the same day, for a small fee.

That was a standard practice, though Harry had only had to do that a few times. He liked to make sure he had enough materials on hand for whatever he needed to do. Suddenly finding himself short of crystal vials during Potions would likely earn Snape's wrath, and Harry liked to avoid that whenever possible.

Owl-mail didn't really work well when it came to clothes, since with the rate Harry was growing, it was nearly pointless to order new clothes every few months. But, at least the option was always there just in case he somehow ran out of underwear.

Lavender was done surprisingly quick, though it looked like she had gone for quantity over quality. Harry knew how women could take a long time to do any shopping, spending hours deciding between two different pairs of shoes. Lavender didn't seem to have that problem, evidently realizing that instead of choosing between two different styles of socks, she could just get both.

A shrinking charm from Harry (courtesy of a late night spell practice session a week ago), had them ready to continue without being bogged down with bags. Scrivenshaft's was next door, and upon entering, it took all of Harry's willpower to not sneeze at the overwhelming smell of ink mixed with the ever-present dust.

It was called a "Quill Shop", but there was actually a lot more for sale than just quills. It made sense, really, since Harry couldn't see a way in which a single person could make a living off selling nothing but quills, no matter how high quality they were (and Scrivenshaft's was very high quality). So in addition to quills, there were dip pens, ink pots, and pretty much anything needed for calligraphy. There were specialized writing tables, special dust to prevent smudges, and different sized nibs for every occasion.

And that was just all the mundane things. Once magic was taken into account, anything was possible. There were self-writing quills which would write down anything that was said by themselves, spell-checking quills, quills made from eagle feather, dragon claw and even phoenix feather. Then there were all the inks, in a million different colors, and some that changed color when it was too cold, too warm, or when the writer was a boy or a girl, or just randomly.

Harry could easily see why it was Hermione's favorite shop. And that was without even taking the vast selection of books for sale. It wasn't as massive as Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, but there was enough to handle the expected Hogwarts demand, plus all the esoteric books that someone like Hermione couldn't get enough of.

They didn't spend a large amount of time in there, just enough to stock up on supplies for class, and a single book on advanced charms that was new enough that Harry knew it wouldn't be in the Hogwart's library. That was sort of the downside of such a shop, in that outside of required textbooks for class, pretty much everything else could be found within the Hogwart's Library, which was the largest repository of knowledge in all of Europe. At least, that's what Hermione liked to tell him.

After they left Scrivenshaft's, Lavender pointed down to a shop at the end of the high road. It was a slightly bigger building than the others, and quite long, but in the same style as the rest of the town. Quaint, would be the word for it.

"That's Dervish and Banges. They sell a lot of… stuff," said Lavender.

"Stuff?" Harry questioned.

"I'm not sure how else to describe it. A little bit of everything. Cauldrons, scales, brooms. I think you can even get used wands there."

"Sounds a bit like Borgin and Burkes," Harry commented.

"A bit, but it's all Hogwart's friendly stuff. I've heard about the things you can get in Borgin and Burke's - Parvati told me that her sister said that her friend said that there was a used coffin that was supposedly once used by Elizabeth Bathory."

"The vampire countess?" Harry asked.

Lavender nodded her head enthusiastically, causing some of her blonde hair to get in her face. She looked quite pretty as she blew it back out of her eyes.

"That's pretty cool," Harry replied.

Rolling her eyes, Lavender added, "There's plenty of other cool stuff to find in there. It's where I got my crystal ball for my extra divination projects."

"Neat," said Harry as they entered the building. Lavender was right, in that there was a bit of everything everywhere. Instead of splitting up like that had in the last shop, the stayed together as they explored the various knicks and knacks.

"A mirror that doesn't show your reflection, but rather that of your enemies," Harry commented in front of what appeared to just be a window. "I don't think I fancy a look through that."

"I can't blame you," Lavender replied. "Look at all those sneak-o-scopes. That one over there must be the size of a pumpkin."

It was true. It looked like a massive spinning top, and looked to weigh about ten pounds. "I wonder what kind of wizard needs something like that."

"Mad-eye Moody," Lavender said quickly.

Harry let out a laugh. "True enough. That thing probably detects dastardly deeds all the way in France."

Lavender laughed with him, though she checked over her shoulder to make sure Moody wasn't anywhere near them. Harry had seen him enter the Three Broomsticks with a few other professors, so he wasn't too worried, but knowing Moody, he could be slinking around under a disillusionment charm. That was one charm Harry wished to learn, but Hermione had researched it and it was quite difficult. Luckily he had an invisibility cloak.

They continued to browse the various items. Astrolabes and sextants, mercurial basins and distillers, nearly anything a student could think of. There were brooms, though the best they had was a still-in-package Nimbus 2000. They had quidditch gear as well, keeper pads and beater bats, as well as regulation and practice balls.

Going even further into the room, it was easy to see why a lot of Hogwarts students gravitated towards this shop. There were a lot of items, but almost none of them were actually used for Hogwarts classes. The alchemy stuff was neat, but Hermione would likely tell him that Alchemy hadn't been taught at Hogwarts for forty years or something like that. The self-protection section was perhaps the most interesting part of the entire shop. It was obvious why the building was so much larger than the others, and that was because there was just so many items, including shelves of swords, a rack of enchant cloaks, a glass case full of used wands of various makes, and Harry even spotted a magical equivalent of a lockpick. If Harry was going to buy something, it was going to be that, so he subtly picked it up.

"Look over there," Lavender exclaimed, pointing to the far wall where the enchanted cloaks were. "Is that what I think it is?"

"I think so," Harry replied, moving closer.

"It's an invisibility cloak," Lavender said with glee. "How much is it?"

Harry turned over the tag, and almost dropped all of his goods in surprise. "800 galleons? Geeze… I guess I'm lucky that the one I have was my father's…"

"That is a ton of gold," Lavender said with awe. "Nearly as much as the winner's purse for the Triwizard tournament. I guess it would be a bad idea to try it on… wouldn't want to have to pay for accidental damages…"

"Yeah, good idea," Harry replied, backing away. Now that he looked around, he did notice that a lot of the goods were a bit on the expensive side. An enchanted brooch that could detect poisons was forty gold, a gold embroidered wand sheath made out of dragon leather was twenty-five, and a set of Omniculars from the 1954 Quidditch World Cup was over a hundred.

Those were just the things Harry could identify. Some items had names, but no discernable use - he had no idea what an Ascertaining Hourglass was used for, as it wasn't filled with anything. Nor did he know the purpose of a Limitless Lantern.

After thirty minutes or so, Lavender said that she was getting hungry, so they made their purchases and left the shop. Harry had bought the magical lockpick, as well as a Revelation Revealer - a glass device with a silver frame that could detect if an object has been tampered with, whether it's a letter or a trunk or anything in between. Lavender had picked up a few things herself, including a couple packs of exploding playing cards, a board game called "Merlin's Menagerie", and a new enchanted radio for their dorm room. Lavender had fallen in love with a band called the Weird Sisters during the summer and wanted a way to listen to them at Hogwarts.

The Three Broomsticks was predictably crowded, practically overflowing with patrons. There had to have been a hundred students in there, as well as most of the professors. It was odd seeing Dumbledore outside of Hogwarts, and even stranger to see him with a tankard of something that was giving off a strange blue glow.

Ignoring the professors, Harry and Lavender managed to find their friends at the back of the room. Most of the fourth years were in their own little section, with Ron and Hermione sitting with Neville, Dean, Susan, Hannah, and Terry. A table over held most of the others, including Parvati, Padma, Lisa, Su, Tony, and Mandy. Harry didn't know most of them all that well, but after sharing a few classes every year, he was friendly enough with most of them.

"Hey Harry," Ron greeted him as they sat down at an open spot. "And Lavender."

"Hello," they responded.

"You have a good time?" Hermione asked with a knowing grin. "I thought you would have gone to Madam Puddifoot's."

"And miss out on the excellent butterbeer?" Harry asked.

"Madam Puddifoot's isn't a first date type of place," replied Lavender. "I've looked inside, just to see what it's like… just think of Valentine's day, except that's every day."

Harry and Ron both shivered at the thought. A server came by and the newcomers gave their orders.

They spent a few minutes catching up with their day and the purchases they had made. Hermione gushed over a 16th century copy of Hogwarts, A History that she found in a bargain bin in Dervish and Banges, while Ron was grinning at the amount of stuff he had bought from Zonko's. If Harry didn't know better, he thought Ron was following a bit more in his twin brothers' footsteps than he would have thought. Then again, Ron was actually spending some time outside of class practicing magic, which was something he had _never_ done before.

Their food came out in short order, thanks to the gift that is magic. Being able to get perfectly cooked steak with only a fraction of the effort was amazing, thanks to all the various enchanted cooking appliances Rosmerta and her cooks made use of. It even had the smokey-grill taste. He had chips on the side, as well as two butterbeers. He'd figured he go through the first so fast, that he might as well just have the second on standby.

Lavender made herself busy by devouring her own meal, and Harry couldn't help but admire the way the pretty girl gorged herself on cod, only pausing to take a sip from her greenmist special. It was a type of carbonated berry drink that smelled way too fruity to Harry, but Lavender seemed to enjoy it immensely.

Dessert came shortly after, with Harry getting a massive piece of rich chocolate cake, with Lavender getting a gigantic peanut butter cookie with color-changing chocolate chips, as well as her own butterbeer to wash it down with.

It was an excellent meal, considering how cheap it was compared to what a similar meal would have cost in the muggle world. Harry paid for both of them, since it felt like the right thing to do.

Afterwords, they made their way out of the bustling and crowded atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks, and back onto the high street. It was getting late, but there was still a few hours of daylight left. They decided to take a short walk down a side street, where Lavender continued on her "tour".

"That's the Shrieking Shack," Lavender said. "It's supposedly the most haunted place in Britain. That's never made sense to me since Hogwarts itself has like fifty ghosts."

The Shrieking Shack was just as dilapidated as Harry remembered, perhaps even more so. There had been a bit of a battle inside, though Harry didn't remember damaging anything too important. He wondered if the residents of the town thought ghosts had come back to haunt the place after having been quiet for so long.

"It's not haunted at all," Harry stated. "There's actually a very mundane reason for it, though I think people enjoy the history of it more than the truth."

"What's the truth?" Lavender asked curiously.

"You heard about Professor Lupin at the end of last year, right?" Harry asked.

Lavender nodded. "There's was a big hubbub about him being a werewolf. It's funny, now that I think about it. I remember Snape doing that fill-in lesson, and it just happened to be about werewolves."

"Yeah, I'm fairly certain he's the one who broke the story, since he knew about Lupin's condition the whole time. Snape brewed something called the Wolfsbane Potion, which would help a werewolf retain their mind during times of the full moon."

"Huh. I haven't heard of that," Lavender replied.

"It's a relatively new potion, I think. It wasn't around when Lupin was a kid. He was bit by a vicious werewolf named Fenrir Greyback - he's pretty infamous, you may have heard of him. Anyways, Dumbledore didn't want Lupin's condition to get in the way of him getting a Hogwarts education, so he made special arrangements for Lupin to be transported here during the full moon. There's a secret passage underneath the Whomping Willow that leads straight into the Shrieking Shack. So, it's not haunted, what everyone heard was just the sound of a werewolf going berserk inside the building."

"That's amazing. How do you know all this?"

"Lupin was a friend of my dad's, and the only connection that I really have to my parents. He told me a lot of things about my parents and himself at the end of last year."

"That's interesting, and a bit sad," Lavender replied.

"It's in the past," Harry said with a shrug.

"You mentioned a secret passage. Any chance we could take it back up to the school?"

"I don't think there's a way to get into the Shrieking Shack from the outside," said Harry. "But, I know of another passage. I used it last year - it's in the cellar of Honeydukes."

"That's perfect," Lavender responded with excitement. "It's the only shop we haven't visited yet."

Honeydukes tended to be the last stop for most students. They would go in and stock up on chocolate frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Droobles chewing gum, sugar quills, Fizzing Whizzbies, licorice wands, cauldron cakes, and a hundred other things besides.

Harry was partial to chocolate frogs, so he purchased a fair amount of them, while Lavender stocked up on different flavors of gum and sugar quills. There wasn't a huge amount of students in the shop, as most had already begun the trip back to Hogwarts, but there was enough to keep the single employee occupied.

When the shopkeep turned around to get some more cockroach clusters for display, Harry and Lavender snuck into the back room, and down the stairs into the cellar. There were dozens of crates lined up on each wall, containing more candy than Harry would be able to eat in his entire life. But, he'd be up for the challenge.

"There's a trap door in the corner," Harry whispered to Lavender. "It's hard to see with the dust, but it's there."

Harry found it in a few seconds, and held open the lid for Lavender to get in. Unlike the passageway that led into the shrieking shack, this one was made entirely out of stone and was built with a purpose.

Gently, Harry closed the lid, and they were quickly bathed in complete darkness. " _Lumos,"_ Harry whispered.

"How long is it?" Lavender asked, biting her lip. She stared at the narrow and dimly lit corridor in apprehension.

"However far away Hogwarts is," Harry replied. "I reckon it takes about twenty minutes to get there. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Lavender nodded her head and reached for Harry's hand, holding onto it tightly. She stayed close as they made their way back to the school. The passageway was a bit cramped so they had to hunch over a bit, and Harry was grateful that he knew the shrinking charm for their bags, otherwise the trip would have been impossible.

A few minutes in, the only sound was that of their feet and steady breathing, so Harry decided to ask a few questions. "You never told me about your family," he said. "You have any brothers, sisters, a dog?"

The young witch seemed grateful for the distraction. "An older sister. She works at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"Sounds exciting," replied Harry. "That's the Minister's old department, isn't it?"

"It is," Lavender confirmed. "My sister makes the place out to sound so boring and dull though. Lots of paperwork. My parents work at the Ministry as well. Mum's a halfblood and works at one of the personal injury offices there, and dad's a pureblood and is an assistant manager of portkey registration. And yeah, that _is_ as boring as it sounds. My whole family is boring, but you're not. You've had a lot of excitement at Hogwarts from what I've seen."

"Not by choice, let me assure you."

"Oh? So then you're _not_ training to become a Triwizard Champion?" Lavender asked.

"Hm, well, I guess you got me on that one," Harry replied. "I figure I'd just cut out the middleman and find the excitement myself, rather than it tragically fall upon my shoulders to save the world."

Lavender giggled, and a few seconds later they came upon the end of the secret passageway. "Where does it come out?" she asked.

"Third floor, near our Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. It's behind that statue of the hunchbacked witch."

"Really?" Lavender asked excitedly, turning to face Harry.

"Uh-huh," Harry nodded. "Don't tell anyone about it - if Filch finds out, he's likely to collapse it just like all the others. And then there wouldn't be an easy way to sneak into Hogsmeade."

Lavender didn't say anything, but she started to lean in close. Harry gulped, unaccustomed to the closeness, and within seconds, Lavender's lips were upon his own.

Harry had never kissed a girl before. Never even dreamed of it, to be honest. Lavender smelled vaguely of strawberries, and a bit of butterbeer. Her lips were soft, and a bit moist - not altogether unpleasant. He wasn't good at it, and neither was Lavender, but that was the joy of it. They both figured it out together.

They broke apart after a few seconds of the initial fumbling kiss. "That was…"

"Mmhmm," Lavender agreed. Then she was upon him again, a bit more sure than she was the first time. Harry practically breathed her in as their lips connected. It was just so… nice, lasting nearly a minute longer. By the end, Harry had grown more confidant and kissed her deeply, and when they finally separated, they were both breathing heavily.

"Brilliant," Harry exclaimed breathlessly.

"Amazing," Lavender said with a grin. "We'll need to practice a bit, but that was great for a first time."

"Practice?" Harry asked. "Does that mean we're boyfriend and girlfriend?"

To answer his question, Lavender embraced him in another kiss, leaving him practically speechless and a bit disheveled. She was very energetic, which sort of made up for their inexperience.

"I'll take that as a yes then," Harry said in between gulps of air.

"Yes," Lavender replied. "I had a great time today. Though, I'd prefer somewhere with a bit more light and not as damp."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time then," Harry said, grinning ear to ear.


	6. Chapter 6

"Do you see anything yet, Harry?" Lavender Brown asked. She shivered slightly in the late October air. The moon and stars were out in force, with barely a cloud in the sky.

"No one knows how the other schools are arriving," replied Harry, pulling Lavender in close for warmth. "Or, if they do, they're not saying."

Lavender nodded her head as she huddled close to Harry. There was a bit of a gale that night, cooling the air down tremendously. It wouldn't surprise any of them if it started snowing in the next few weeks.

Every last student at Hogwarts was gathered on the lawn outside the front entrance of the school, some five hundred students in total. It was tough for the professors, to keep them all civil, but between the paranoid and gruff Mad-Eye Moody, brooding Snape, stern McGonagall, and the awe-inspiring Dumbledore, they were able to quell any rowdiness before it got out of hand. In addition, both Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman were there as well, waiting for the arrival of the foreign schools. They were representing the Ministry of Magic's interest in the event, and they evidently were the driving force behind the re-emergence of the Triwizard Tournament. They would be seeing it through to make sure it was a success.

That was also to say nothing of the two dozen prefects who were in attendance, but truth be told, every last student was anxious for the other schools to arrive. None of them had ever experienced an event at Hogwarts even remotely close to the Triwizard Tournament, and everyone wanted to be on the ground level when it went down. No one wanted to miss it.

"Look, over there!" a student shouted, point up into the sky. "I think I see something!"

"I don't see anything," Ron said from Harry's right, squinting up in the sky. For the last two months, both he, Harry and Hermione had trained hard for this night, giving their all in an effort to bring their talents up to a respectable level worthy of consideration. Harry dating Lavender Brown luckily hadn't cut into their time too much, and Harry hadn't volunteered to bring her into the mix, much to Ron's relief.

"I think I see something," said Hermione, looking at where everyone else was looking. "It looks like… a carriage? That can't be right."

Hermione was right though. It was a carriage. It was a huge carriage, by the looks of it, and it was being _pulled_ through the air by a flock of massive winged horses. From the time they first spotted the carriage to the time it finally touch down was about ten minutes, which only emphasized how large the carriage actually was.

Being the size of a fairly large house, it became abundantly clear _why_ it had to be so big. Once it landed a few dozen paces away from the assembled students, the side door opened. A boy dressed in fancy robes stepped out and quickly pulled out a set of retractable steps from the undercarriage, followed by unfurling a blue carpet onto the grass.. Then, he stood off to the side, straight-backed and waiting. It was surreal, almost like something out of a cartoon.

The next person to come out was giant, quite literally. Standing ten feet tall or as near enough as to make no difference, the woman was massive. She was easily the tallest person Harry had ever seen. If Lavender stood on his shoulders, they may have been at eye level.

"Headmaster Dumbley-dore," the giant of a woman said with a heavy French accent, all while curtseying.

"Madame Maxime," Dumbledore replied with a deep bow. The tip of the eccentric headmaster's hat almost scratched the giant's chin. "May I welcome you to Hogwarts?"

"You may," she agreed. "'Ze Abraxan will be tired after such a long flight. 'Zey will require a firm hand, as 'zey can be quite temperamental."

"It will be done," Dumbledore replied. "Hagrid should have no problem handling your beautiful steeds."

"Very well. Tell 'zis 'agrid zat zey drink only single malt whiskey."

"I will let him know," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"Has Karkaroff not arrived?" Maxime asked, looking around at the assembled students. Her own formed a tight group around her, and some of them were shivering in the cold air.

"It doesn't look like any of them thought of the weather," Hermione commented idly. "Look at those robes - they must be silk. This isn't France - I would know, it's nice around this time of the year."

"I bet it is," Ron said, staring at the older French witches who were talking animatedly with each other. Then, he turned to Harry. "I think it's your lucky year, mate."

Ron was smiling, so Harry focused on what Ron was staring at. "What do you mean?"

"Well, there's that saying - what goes around comes around. You've fought a unicorn-blood drinking possessed professor, you slew a basilisk after nearly dying in the process, and you faced off against a hundred dementors _and_ a werewolf. Now, you've got a bunch of busty French girls wearing thin robes in nearly-freezing weather. Talk about luck!"

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed, hitting Ron in the arm. That was such a common occurrence that Harry barely even registered it, though he did hear what Ron said.

"I have a girlfriend," Harry reminded him, hugging Lavender even closer to him. She was glaring daggers at Ron.

"Your loss, mate," Ron replied with a shrug and a grin.

Harry couldn't help but agree with Ron though. A cursory inspection showed around twenty students in total, roughly an even split of boys and girls. And, almost without exception, the girls ranged from pretty to extremely attractive. As to Ron's opinion of their "assets", Harry was more than content with Lavender's ample developments.

Comparing Lavender to other girls in the year, she might very well be at the top, aside from Susan Bones, but the Hufflepuff was quite fat so she didn't really count. Truthfully, Harry's relationship with Lavender hadn't really progressed that far. There had been some light exploration, with Harry coping a feel of both her bust and butt on a few occasions, but they were both a bit timid and shy with doing anything more. They had sort of stalled on that account, and there wasn't really any excitement to be had within Hogwarts for a new couple who were currently experimenting with what it actually meant to be a couple.

It was a bit of a sore point with them. They hadn't had any arguments yet, as there wasn't anything to argue over since they pretty much had classes all day, or they would occasionally play a game. But Harry had secrets, and Lavender knew that. She just felt left out since he'd share them with Ron and Hermione, but not herself. She knew Harry had gone on many adventures with his friends, but they hadn't done anything like that at all.

Harry just couldn't bring himself to share the knowledge of his Marauder's Map, let alone details about some of the crazy things that had happened around him. The Map was his most treasured possession, and Lavender was a bit of a gossip. She would inevitably let slip to Parvati about it, and Parvati would tell her sister, and then her sister would tell someone else, and inevitably the whole school would know about it. The only thing for Harry to do was to use it very sparingly, and only when she was nowhere near.

Harry felt a bit bad about that, but he was just happy that Lavender hadn't asked to join him in his training sessions. The Map was pretty low on his list of secrets though, but it was still a secret. If push came to shove, he would rather tell her about the Map than admit that he had personally killed Professor Quirrell with his bare hands, essentially disintegrating him. And if he did that, he'd have to explain that Voldemort wasn't actually dead and gone, and was subsisting as a shadowy wraith thing.

Some secrets just had to stay that way. Harry just found it hard to open up sometimes, though he could maybe see himself telling Lavender about Sirius, and how his godfather was actually innocent of his crimes. But, that sort of thing was a serious conversation, which they rarely had. They would mostly just hang out, snuggle a bit in the common room, maybe play one of Lavender's board games, or just listen to the Wizarding Wireless. They didn't exactly have a deep relationship, and he wasn't really sure if either of them actually wanted one.

Harry's introspection lasted several minutes, in which time the assembled students waited eagerly for Durmstrang to arrive. Again, they didn't know how the foreign school would be arriving, but with how Beauxbatons had arrived, wild speculation was rampant.

Everyone was now waiting for the Durmstrang lot to arrive, and most people were expecting them to come by air, just like the French students had. They were all gazing up expectantly over the Forbidden Forest, waiting for any sign.

Ten minutes or so passed before the first indication of their arrival was seen, and it was a third year Ravenclaw girl pointing at the lake, not the sky. "Look, there's something happening at the lake!"

The girl was right, sure enough. At first, there was just a small amount of bubbles, but that was followed by a larger amount of bubbles, sending the lake's surface into a tumultuous roil. People were shouting guesses at what it could be, anything from a submarine to a whale, but no one guessed the obvious - a ship.

The tip of a mast broke the surface first, followed by the crow's nest. Several billowing sails embroidered with Durmstrang heraldry hung from the main mast as well as the secondary masts - Harry didn't know what they were called. The rest of the ship popped up onto the surface of the lake, and Harry could see the Durmstrang students working the lines and preparing for docking.

Harry had no idea how a ship could _sail_ under water, but clearly some awesome magic was involved. The ship looked like something straight out of the seventeenth century, and Harry had a vague notion that being a wizard pirate would have been awesome, especially if the pirate ship could sail under water.

Excitement was in the air as the students waiting patiently for the Durmstrang students to disembark. The ship drifted up closely to shore, but not so close as to get beached. When they were close enough, a very long docking bridge was slid off the side of the boat, reaching from the deck all the way to shore. It had to have been over fifty feet long.

Walking one by one, the students of Durmstrang went down the plank, gathering on the shore. They had roughly the same amount of students as Beauxbatons, but their headmaster was a normal sized man, with a sharp, greying goatee and harsh looking eyes. All of them were dressed in dark crimson robes, lined with some type of fur. Compared to the French students, they were dressed appropriately for the weather. In fact, Harry would actually say that they appeared to be overly warm, suggesting that Durmstrang had to be located in a place that got even colder than Hogwarts.

Once all the students were off the ship, their Headmaster lead them up to the main congregation, though he seemed to be favoring one student in particular, walking with a hand on the student's shoulder and a smile on his face.

The students all had to crane their necks to see what was going on, but there was a definite murmur going through the crowd, all directed at the student at the head of the column.

"Bloody hell, is that Viktor Krum?" Ron exclaimed. "I had no idea he was still in school!"

"It isn't, is it?" Harry echoed, staring at the Bulgarian seeker. "This tournament just got better, if he's going to be entering."

"Yeah it did," Ron agreed excitedly. "Do you think he'd let me get an autograph?"

Harry laughed. "Mate, there's going to be a line all the way around the castle."

"You're probably right," said Ron, sighing loudly.

"I'm sure you'll find the right time," said Harry. "They're going to be here for the rest of the year, right?'

"That's true."

Harry had gotten distracted enough to only see the very end of the Headmaster's interaction with Dumbledore, thought he heard the name Karkaroff. The two Headmasters seemed to be on friendly terms, and Karkaroff looked delighted to be at Hogwarts. He spoke English very well, though German was the primary language of the Durmstrang Institute.

In short order, they were all assembling into the main hall. With an extra forty or fifty students, the normally massive hall felt slightly cramped, though that may have been because nearly everyone was in full robes and dressed for night time pre-winter weather.

Fires were going in the plethora of braziers, giving the hall a nice homely feeling, as well as giving off much-needed warmth. There were hundreds of dinner sets aligned on each table as well, and it was clear the house elves had gone all out, providing golden plates, utensils, and goblets for every person.

Harry took his normal spot at the Gryffindor table, though like everyone else, he was curious as to where the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students would choose to sit. His girlfriend took a seat to his left, while both Hermione and Ron sat across from him.

The question was answered soon enough, as the French students assembled at the end of the Ravenclaw table. Durmstrang had a similar idea, though they chose the Slytherin table instead. From the rumors Harry had heard about Durmstrang, he really wasn't too surprised by that. Draco Malfoy looked absolutely giddy, with Viktor Krum sitting mere feet away from him. He was clearly as big of a Krum fan as Ron was.

Getting everyone seated and situated took the better part of ten minutes. Dumbledore stood at the head of the staff table, with Headmaster Karkaroff at his left, and Headmistress Maxime at his right. Those were places of honor for the foreign schools, and Bagman and Crouch were right next to them.

"Good evening, ladies, gentleman, and honored guests," Dumbledore said, gesturing to everyone in the hall. "I welcome you all to Hogwarts, and offer you all the hospitality and warmth that we can provide."

Harry noticed a slight commotion over at the Ravenclaw table, where the French students were sitting. A few of them were laughing as if they found what Dumbledore said to be especially funny - probably the comment about the warmth of Hogwarts. There was no getting around the fact that it was huge, old drafty castle in northern Scotland, and it wasn't even winter yet.

"Tonight is a very special night. For the first time in three hundred and forty seven years **,** I have the honor of introducing the Triwizard Tournament. In a few minutes time, I will be introducing you all to the impartial judge, who will determine the most worthy Champion from each of our schools. There is great honor in being a Champion, even if you do not win. But there is also great danger. We have taken precautions to ensure that there will be no repeat of the last Tournament, where all three Champions, two of the judges and a dozen students were tragically killed by a frenzied manticore. But even so, there is always a very real danger. I cannot stress this enough, that this tournament is not for the faint of heart, nor the weak-willed."

"Yet, at the same time, this Tournament is supposed to be exciting. It was originally designed to create and foster international bonds with other students from far away lands, and we will continue that tradition here. I hope the friendships that are born here will last for many years to come, and hope that this is but the first of many Tournaments to usher in a new era of international cooperation."

Dumbledore paused to let his words soak into the students' minds. Dumbledore had a way with words, yet he also tended to ramble on a bit. Such was the curse of old age.

"Look at your friend to your left, and then look at your friend to your right. You can see the gleam in their eyes, the visions of glory and riches, your name remembered for years to come, for better, or for worse. Think of this as an opportunity for greatness. There are five hundred and twenty seven of you gathered in this hall, right now, but only three of you can become a champion, one from each school. But, there can be only one winner."

"Now, onto the tournament itself. There will be three Tasks for the three Champions to compete in, spaced evenly throughout the year. There will be other mini-events as well, beginning with the customary Weighing of the Wands publicity event, a few days after the Champions have been chosen. Others will be announced at a later date."

"Introductions next, I think. For each task, there will be five judges grading each Champion on their performance. Madame Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons will be one, as well as Headmaster Karkaroff of Durmstrang," Dumbledore said, gesturing to his left and right. "In addition, Bartemius Crouch of the Department of International Cooperation will be a third, and Ludo Bagman of the Department of Magical Sports and Games will be a fourth - it is their exemplary efforts that have made this tournament possible. And lastly, is myself, Headmaster of this fine school."

The five judges waved and bowed to the students as appropriate, but the length of Dumbledore's speech had drawn out some glazed expressions from several students. "Now, I think it is time to bring out the impartial adjudicator. Mr. Filch, if you would?'

The cantankerous old caretaker was hiding in a corner, and Harry hadn't noticed him there. He approached the podium where Dumbledore stood, carrying what looked to be a wooden chest of some sort. It was a bit plain, but it was carried with extreme reverence. Filch set the box down in front of Dumbledore, bowed, and retreated.

"Inside this casket is an artifact of immense power," Dumbledore declared. "It alone has the ability to determine your fate, and who amongst you are worthy enough to be your school's Champion."

Dumbledore unfastened the clasps that were holding the lid shut, and once he removed the lid, a bright green light shone throughout the room. It was bright enough that Harry had to adjust his eyes.

"Behold!" Dumbledore yelled, reaching into the box. "The Goblet of Fire!"

The Headmaster held the artifact up for the whole hall to see. It was made of gold and platinum, and with the most intricate design Harry had ever seen. There was ample gilding and embossing, and dozens of rubies, emeralds and diamonds adorned every facet of the goblet. White flames licked out from the rim, and it radiated pure magic.

It was a chalice worthy of a king. Or a Champion, as it were.

"Any student wishing to put forth their name to become a Champion simply needs to submit a piece of parchment with their name written on it into the rim of the Goblet. You will have twenty-four hours to do this, and not a minute longer. Think hard and think carefully about this, for if you are named Champion, you cannot be unnamed. It is a magically binding contract. A thousand Galleons, undying glory, and the adoration of your peers are in store for the winner."

"Oh, and for those of you with dreams of eternal glory, there are couple other minor benefits. Firstly, Champions can use whatever time they need to prepare for a task, even if that means missing a class. And secondly, a Champion will not have to take their end of the year exams - being a Triwizard Champion is worth far more than any OWL or NEWT grade, but of course, you are still welcome to take them. Now, onto the feast!"

"So, you're really going to enter your name?" Lavender asked of Harry once Dumbledore had sat back down..

"Yeah. It's a long shot, but I'd rather enter my name and not have it come out rather than wonder about what could have been."

"I suppose that makes sense," Lavender replied. "But I am worried about you. Still, if anyone can overcome the odds, it's you."

"Thanks, Lavender," Harry replied with a smile. He leaned in for a quick kiss and Lavender was happy to comply.

The house elves had really outdone themselves, much to Hermione's chagrin. Her lobbying efforts thus far had not yielded any fruit. People were willing to listen to her, perhaps some even agreed with her, but few were actually willing to do something about it. Nearly every witch or wizard was content to just follow the status quo, and they'd end up putting a sickle into Hermione's collection tin just to get her to go away.

Food stacks upon food stacks ladened the tables down so heavily that Harry could imagine them straining under the weight. In addition to the normal English foods that Harry had been accustomed to, there were a lot of foreign dishes, probably made in an attempt to have the other students feel at home, and to expose the Hogwarts students to new delicacies. Whether or not a particular food was done to the specifications that the foreign students were used to, Harry couldn't say one way or another.

The Durmstrang lot seemed to be rather pleased at how they were being treated. From the golden plates and utensils, to the rich foods of their homelands, they truly felt like honored guests.

The same couldn't be said for the Beauxbatons students however. From their almost unanimously haughty attitudes, it was clear they found Hogwarts lacking. Perhaps it was the weather, as several of them hadn't even removed their scarves yet, perhaps it was the food, or perhaps it was just the atmosphere in general. A thousand year old castle was not everyone's cup of tea, though in its current setup, Harry found it quite inviting.

Harry and his friends didn't pay too much attention to the other students after a few minutes. They were too enamoured by the new types of food. Harry was very open to trying new foods, as growing up at the Dursley's had not make him overly picky. Ron though, seemed to be sticking to the known foods, taking particular offense at a French dish that appeared right in the center of their table.

"What _is_ that?" Ron asked, after Harry shrugged and piled a sample from the dish into a bowl.

"Beats me," replied Harry. "It looks pretty good though."

"If you say so," Ron said skeptically. Harry took a bite and shrugged again, before eating the rest.

"It's bouillabaisse," Hermione said, getting some of her own. "I had it in France. It's quite good."

"Yeah, not bad," Harry replied, already eyeing another, different, dish. Ron still didn't go near it. Neither did Lavender or anyone else, for that matter.

A couple minutes later, Hagrid came walking into the hall, heading up towards his spot at the top table. He spared a second to give Harry a thumbs up before settling down in his extra-large seat.

Just as Harry noticed that Hagrid was trying to catch a look at Madame Maxime, a voice spoke up from behind him. Turning around, Harry noted the blue silk uniform that designated the Beauxbatons contingent. It was a French witch, with long silvery-blonde hair and a haughty look on her face. She was extremely beautiful.

"Excuse moi, are you done with zat bouillabaiise?" the girl asked. Her English was very thick, but Harry got the gist of it.

Ron froze at the sight of her, but Harry was in control of his wits. "Here you go," he said, sliding the dish over to her.

"It was excellent," Ron said dazedly, unable to take his eyes off her. The witch cocked an eyebrow, gathered up the dish with deft hands, and returned to the Ravenclaw table.

"You alright mate?" Harry asked.

Ron blinked a few times before responding. "Blimey, that girl is a veela!" he exclaimed in a hushed whisper.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scoffed. "No on else is turning into a puddle of drool."

Harry wasn't too sure about that. That girl had been astonishingly beautiful, with her perfectly even white teeth, bright blue eyes and a body unlike any other he'd seen,, or even imagined, barely hidden by the thin silk robes. And others had noticed, not just Ron. Knowing smiles were traded amongst all the boys at the Gryffindor as she had turned away.

"That's not a normal girl," Ron replied fiercy. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Lavender Brown said from Harry's side.

"I mean… present company excluded," Ron said, correcting himself.

"Are you hitting on my girlfriend?" Harry asked with a small grin.

"No, of course not," Ron replied quickly.

"Then you're saying she's not attractive," said Harry

Ron sighed and stuffed his face into his hands to keep himself from saying anything further.

"So, what do you think, Harry?" Lavender asked. "You think she's a Veela?"

Harry subtly turned back towards the Ravenclaw table, trying to get another look. Even amongst the other French girls, the supposed veela stood out. She was just too… perfect. Nothing was out of place on her, not even a pimple or a stray eyelash, and she sat with perfect posture.

"Harry!" Lavender said, tapping his arm.

"What?" he replied, turning back around

"You were staring," she said

"Er, sorry," he replied. "Just checking out the competition."

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Whatever. No need to play coy with me. She _is_ pretty hot."

Everyone at the table turned to look at her. "What? She is. I don't think she's a Veela though."

"Maybe," said Harry. "I mean, the reactions aren't that much different when any girl walks by, except these girls are new here. I stare at you like that all the time, even before we were dating."

Lavender and Hermione both shrugged noncommittally, and that seemed to be the end of that conversation. The meal concluded with Ron trying to bait another of the French girls by putting an untouched French delicacy within sight of the Ravenclaw table, but he had no more luck.

"So, when are we going to put our names in?" Ron asked as they headed up for their dorm room.

"I reckon some time after breakfast. Not something to do on an empty stomach, you know? Bunch of people are probably going to do it tonight, and I'd rather not draw attention to myself."

"Makes sense," Ron agreed. "I think the twins are going to do it sometime tonight - they're going record everyone else who entered and try to take bets on outcomes."

Harry laughed. "Really?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I hear that Bagman is still ducking them so they're trying to catch up on their losses."

"You don't think they're going to confront him, do you?" Hermione asked, suddenly looking concerned.

"I wouldn't put it past them," Ron replied, just as they got to the portrait of the Fat Lady. A prefect gave the password and soon they were all entering.

Despite the late hour, Harry doubted he would get any sleep. Still, he tried to get some rest, but thoughts of the next day plagued him. He worried about him not having learned enough in the last month, despite putting in a lot of extra effort. But there was doubt in the back of his mind, that perhaps he could have done a little more. Or, perhaps, he had done enough, but he was just simply too young, or that there was someone who deserved to be Champion more than he did.

Ron had no such problem, and soon his snores filled up the entire room, leaving Harry to his own thoughts. With a last sigh, he turned over in his bed and covered his head with his pillow, hoping to get at least a few hours of shuteye before what could be one of the most important moments in his life.


	7. Chapter 7

"What do you mean, you're not going to put your name in?" Ron asked a bit angrily.

"I mean, I don't want to be a Champion, so why take the risk?" Hermione retorted.

"Well, look at it this way," said Ron, folding his arms across his chest. "If your name gets pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, that means you can be the first person to be a Champion who didn't want to be one."

"Honestly, Ron, shouldn't you be happy that I'm not putting my name in?" Hermione asked. "That means there's one less person for you to edge out."

"I guess, but we did agree to go thirdsies, remember? If one of us gets in, and wins, then we split it three ways with the other two people. That doesn't work when you don't enter yourself - in fact, it seems like your copping out."

"I just think that there are more important issues, rather than me putting my name into the Goblet. Besides, if one of you gets chosen, I'm still going to help, and I think that still entitles me to the deal."

"So, you want no risk, yet all the reward," Ron replied.

Hermione sighed, but Ron kept talking.

"Just think about all the opportunities being a Champion will give you," Ron said. "Remember what Dumbledore said - being a Champion is better than getting an 'O' on your NEWTs."

"That's just allegorical," Hermione huffed.

"I don't even know what that means," said Ron. "But, think of how much more sway you would have in your House Elf rights campaign if you were a Triwizard Champion."

Ron knew that he had convinced her with that statement. Or, re-convinced her. But, she narrowed her eyes at him. "I know what you're doing. You think that you have a better shot of getting paid a third of the prize if _I_ was chosen instead of you or Harry."

"That's not it at all," Ron protested vehemently, shaking his head.

"Guys," Harry called out. "Can you please shut up for a moment."

Hermione looked at Harry in askance, but he sent her a glare before she could rebuke him.

"We're in this together. That means we all put our names in together. There's nothing more to say about it."

Letting go of a heavy sigh, Hermione agreed. "Fine. I'll put my bloody name in the bloody cup."

Ron smirked at her out-of-character expletives. "Good. I knew you'd see sense."

It was Harry's turn to let out a sigh. Today was turning out to be the longest day in his entire life. Well, that wasn't strictly true as all of the days of his life were more or less the exact same length. And, that was also ignoring the fact that Harry actually had a roughly twenty-seven hour day back in June when he and Hermione had travelled back in time a few hours to save his godfather from the Dementor's Kiss.

So, it was the second longest day of his life, and it wasn't even to the exciting part yet. Normally, Halloween, Samhain, or whatever the wizards called it, was a sorrowful day for Harry, as while it was the day Voldemort had been defeated by his hands, or rather, forehead, it was the day he became an orphan. Not a great day for him, and he usually spent some time at Hagrid's, listening to tales about his mum and dad.

"So, have you heard who's entered yet?" Harry asked, diverting his thoughts. It was just him, Ron, and Hermione sitting at the breakfast table. Lavender was off with Parvati somewhere, and the rest of the Gryffindor boys had already left.

"I haven't talked to my brothers yet, but I've heard a few names. I know the entire Durmstrang lot came last night to put their names in. Dunno about the Frenchies."

"Frenchies?" Hermione stated with a leveled glare. "Really, Ron?"

"Anyways, I heard Cedric Diggory signed up after dinner last night, as did Pucey and his gang."

"Uhg, I hope we don't get a Slytherin Champion," Harry said with distaste. "What kind of message would that send to people?"

"Not a good one," Hermione agreed solemnly. "Hey, look, it's Angelina."

Hermione pointed towards the Goblet of Fire, which was simmering peacefully on a pedestal at the front of the Great Hall. Angelina, surrounded by several of her friends, was walking over to it with a purpose in mind. She pulled out a slip of parchment, stared at it for a few seconds, and plopped it in. A blip of white flame shot out, causing her to flinch, but otherwise satisfied, she headed towards the Gryffindor table for breakfast. There was a smattering of applause as she walked, much to her amusement.

"Hey Angelina," Ron called out when she came nearby.

"Hey Ron," she said.

"Do you know if my brothers entered?" asked Ron.

"Not yet," she replied absentmindedly. "I think they're planning on doing a grand entrance at noon."

"Cool, thanks," said Ron.

Angina nodded and turned her attention back to her friends, before settling in for breakfast.

"So what do you reckon, is it our turn?" Ron asked Harry.

"Now is as good a time as any," Harry replied with a shrug. At once, the three of them pushed their dirty plates towards the center of the table, reached into their bags, and grabbed a slip of parchment and quill. One by one they wrote their names clearly, and one by one they got up and approached the Goblet of Fire.

Several other students had put their name in during the interim, but Harry didn't feel like any of them had a realistic chance. If someone like Cormac McLaggen thought they had a real shot, then surely Harry and his friends had one.

Ron put his in first, half expecting the Goblet to spit the parchment back out, but it absorbed it with no fuss. Hermione went second, after some prodding, and Harry followed suit. There were some snickers from some of the assembled students, as if they thought a group of fourth years had no chance, but at least they were giving it a go, unlike them.

"What now?" Ron asked, taking a look around the room. There were no classes that day, since Dumbledore figured most students would be too preoccupied to pay attention. He wasn't wrong, and so, even after a few hours, nearly the entire school was still in the Great Hall. Even some of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students were hanging out.

"I think I'd like to visit Hagrid," Harry decided. It was getting a little too crowded for him, with his emotions as wild as they were. "It being the 31st and all."

Ron and Hermione both nodded in understanding, but Ron quickly added, "We'll go with you, if you want."

"Okay," Harry replied indifferently. "Sure."

While there were a lot of students mingling inside the school, there were quite a few outside as well. A group of Hufflepuff boys were tossing a quaffle around, while a pair of girls were watching them and gossiping. Harry didn't pay them any attention as they made their way to Hagrid's hut.

The massive gamekeeper was outside his hut, tending to the Blast-ended Skrewts. Harry paused at seeing this, decided whether visiting Hagrid was worth having to see the Skrewts, but Hermione gave him a small nudge.

"Hey Hagrid," Harry called out.

Hagrid looked up from where he was working and wiped his hands on his pants. "'ello 'Arry, he said, giving him a nod. "Ron. 'Ermione."

"Hello," they replied.

"What brings y'three down 'ere?" Hagrid asked with a gentle smile.

"We all just put our names in the Goblet of Fire," said Harry.

"Really?" questioned Hagrid. "All three of yeh?"

"Well, Hermione didn't want to, but it's only fair since she helped us study," said Ron.

"It's a very dangerous event, y'know. Dumbledore almost put an age restriction on entering, but he was overruled."

"Really?" Hermione asked.

"Ole Moody said that the most worthy student would get picked regardless of age. And given the skill and expertise needed, a student of age would most likely get chosen anyway, so Dumbledore decided that there was little risk in allowing anyone to enter."

"That's interesting," said Harry.

"Of course, he probably didn't expect you three to enter," Hagrid replied thoughtfully. "If he knew that, he may have reconsidered the restriction."

"Why would he do that?" Ron asked in confusion.

"What would you think would happen if one of you got seriously hurt?" Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Again."

"Madam Pomfrey and I are well acquainted," Harry replied with a shrug. "Anyways, how are the Skrewts getting along?"

Hagrid narrowed his eyes at the obvious deflection, but answered none-the-less. "They're still growing. I think before long they'll be trying to eat each other, so I'm going to try and keep 'em separated. It's no good having 'em all die before the end of the year."

"Yeah, that would be a shame," Ron said with a roll of his eyes.

"Are they the only thing we'll be learning about this year?" Hermione asked.

"Nah," Hagrid replied. "But I'm trying to not have a repeat of Buckbeak, you know? I don't think I could go through that again. I don't think Dumbledore could, either."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "What about something in between, something that's interesting, but not completely deadly."

"Being deadly is what makes them interesting," Hagrid countered.

"What about the Beauxbatons Abraxan?" asked Hermione. "Getting permission to do a class on them shouldn't be too hard."

Hagrid considered it for a moment, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "That's not an 'alf-bad idea," he admitted.

"Plus, that means you get to talk with Madame Maxime," Ron said eagerly. Hermione smacked him right away.

Hagrid chuckled. "Am I that obvious?"

"Well, you're both far larger than normal people," Ron said quickly. "No offense intended."

"Aye, no you're right," Hagrid said contemplatively. "It's not often a woman like her comes 'round. Worth a try, at least. You think I should bring her flowers?"

"Well, that depends if you're asking if you can do a lesson on the Abraxan, or asking her on a date."

"Right… right…" Hagrid said, lost in thought. "I've got some stuff to do then. I reckon you three should head back up to the castle… there's no telling what the Skrewts will do when I'm not 'ere."

"Alright then," Harry replied. "We'll talk again later."

"Yeh," Hagrid replied noncommittally, already thinking about what he needed to do. The trio shrugged and began the trek back up to the school.

"So..." Ron said slowly, not exactly sure what had just happened. "I guess Hagrid's going to be asking Maxime out on a date, rather than ask about the horses."

"You're probably right," Hermione said, sparing a glance to look back at Hagrid's hut. "At least we didn't have to be near the Skrewts any longer than necessary."

Harry nodded absently. He had wanted to talk to Hagrid about his parents, given that it was the anniversary of their death, but it hadn't come up.

"You alright, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, fine," he replied. "Just nervous."

They were a bit early for lunch, not having spent all that much time at Hagrid's, but the Weasley twins were there, actively going over a piece of parchment in front of them.

Ron walked over to them, coughing to get their attention.

"Why, isn't it mister seven hundred and fifty to one," Fred said with a grin.

"Seven hundred and fifty to one?" Ron repeated. "What does that even mean?"

"That's the chance we've put you at at actually getting picked as a Champion."

"There aren't even seven hundred and fifty people here at the school," Ron said in protest.

"We know, dear brother," they both said in unison.

"So, what, you reckon so random guy from Hogsmeade has a better shot of becoming a Champion, without even putting their names in?"

The twins nodded enthusiastically.

"What about yourselves, then?" asked Ron.

"We haven't entered yet, but we'll probably set ourselves at fifteen to one," the twins said proudly.

"What about me?" Harry asked.

Consulting their sheet briefly, the twins responded, "Thirty-five to one. Hermione's thirty to one. No offense."

"Can I do a long bet?" Harry asked. "Bet on someone to be champion, _and_ to win the whole thing? I don't know if there's a name for that."

"That's a parlay. It'd be long odds. It depends on the specifics," Fred said. "We don't have the funds to cover, if say, Ron managed to enter and win the whole thing, and someone actually bet on that to happen."

"Bagman still hasn't paid you yet?" Harry asked.

"No, but we were hoping to get some help from you actually, with, uh, the Map, later tonight." George said conspiratorily.

Harry shrugged, but Ron's mind was still on the betting. "What's Krum at?"

Fred rolled his eyes before answering. "Krum's even money to become the Dumstrang champion - you can bet a galleon to win a galleon, and with a parley… well, there's three champions and I reckon he's still even money - not a lot to be made by betting Krum, which I figure a lot of people will do. The money's in the vig, you know."

This time, Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Boys and their betting," she said under her breath.

"Just for that, I'm marking you forty to one," George said with a smirk.

"Whatever," she said, craning her neck to get a look at their sheet. "Did you actually get the names of all the French students?"

"Indeed we did," they said proudly. "Turns out, a lot of them are spoiled little rich kids, all too eager to bet their trust fund money. We gave them fair odds."

"Right. Fifteen to one for all of them, despite there being seventeen students who could possibly enter."

The twins nodded their heads enthusiastically.

"And of course, you do realize, that some of them have to be more likely candidates than the others. Did you do any background research on them at all?"

"They've only been here for like twelve hours," George said, frowning. "It's hard to get background info on them in that sort of a time."

"Do you think any of them are actually going to bet on anyone other than themselves?" Fred asked seriously. "They're a bunch of stuck-up self-centered narcissists."

"That's pretty strong," Hermione retorted. "They can't all be that bad."

Shrugging, the twins turned to Harry. "So, do you think you can help us out later?"

"Sure," he said.

"We'll owe you one," they replied. The turned around and started talking to some students, secretly collecting bets while the teachers weren't looking. George would take the silver or gold, and Fred would record their names, and hand out a receipt. They were quite efficient at it.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked Ron as they watched the twins go about their business. For a second, they thought they got busted when Professor Sinistra confronted them, but to their surprise, she looked back and forth twice before sliding a few galleons over to the twins.

"I'm thinking about betting on Krum," Ron said suddenly. "There's no way he doesn't get picked."

"You know, when the twins say he's even money, it's not actually even money," Hermione stated. "Making the bet itself costs a few Knuts or Sickles, so you might be paying eight sickles to win seven plus your original bet. If they expect the same number to bet on him as against him, they'll be making a sickle per bet and no cost to themselves."

"I know," Ron said with a grin. "It's ingenious, isn't it?"

"It's against the rules, is what it is," Hermione replied with a frown.

"It's not hurting anyone," Ron protested.

"Not yet it's not," Hermione stated.

Harry was only half listening to Hermione's diatribe. Instead, he was going through his pockets, looking for his money pouch. He didn't usually have too much gold on him at any one point in time, and there was almost no reason to actually carry gold during the school day, since there was nothing to spend it on. But, Harry had had a feeling Fred and George would be taking bets. And by feeling, Harry meant that it had been common knowledge for at least the last week.

* * *

A couple hours later, and a couple galleons lighter, they were still inside the Great Hall, but it was almost the hour of reckoning. The feast was much the same as the previous night, with many of the same dishes, and with a few new ones. Harry had no complaints about that.

Everyone was frittering with excitement. Plates were scraped to metal within minutes, and goblets were drained completely dry, all in anticipation of that night. No one wanted to miss a word that was said.

Headmaster Dumbledore seemed to be well aware of this, and revelled in purposefully taking his time eating his own meal, and chatting with Madame Maxime. He could see everyone in the hall looking up at him, just waiting, but that only brought out a twinkle in his eye.

Eventually though, the Headmaster finished his meal, wiped his mouth with a napkin, picked the crumbs out of his beard, and finally stood up to address the students.

"Today is an auspicious today," he said. "Today, three of you will be Triwizard Champions. By my estimations, we have a few more minutes left before the Goblet of Fire gives us the first name. Once the last name comes out, the Goblet can not be relit until the next tournament - hopefully, the next one will be sooner than three hundred years…"

Dumbledore chuckled to himself, but noticing that no one was laughing, he continued on. "There are three tasks. The first of which will be held on the Twenty Fourth of November - mark it on your calendars. The Champions will not know what they are up against - the task will test their mettle, their ability to cope with the unknown and stay cool in the face of unbelievable danger."

Excited murmurs broke out, but Dumbledore swiftly continued his speech. "Only a few minutes now… bear with me... The traditional Weighing of the Wands ceremony will be held two weeks from now - it's solely a press event, and the Champions will have a pass to get out of class early -"

Dumbledore was cut off by the Goblet suddenly flaring up. "It seems the time is upon us. The time we've all been waiting for, though perhaps the Weasley twins most of all."

The flames in the goblet grew larger and larger, slowly drowning the entire hall in intense light. Then, at exactly seven minutes past eight o'clock, a tongue of fire lashed out of the Goblet, throwing a piece of parchment with the first Champion's name into the air. Dumbledore's surprisingly deft hands quickly plucked it out of the air.

"If your name gets called, you are to approach the front of the room, follow the staff table to my right, and proceed out the door into the side room. There, you will await the rest of the Champions to arrive and to receive further instruction."

Dumbledore then held the piece of parchment up to his face, reading the name that was on it. "I present to you, the Champion of Beauxbatons - Fleur Delacour!"

There was a surprise gasp from the Ravenclaw table where the newly dubbed Champion had been sitting, followed swiftly by several sighs of disappointment, finally followed by the sounds of polite clapping.

Fleur Delacour stood up, and Harry realized it was the girl from the previous night whom Ron thought had been a Veela. She was astonishingly pretty, and everyone's eyes were on her as she made her way up to the front table and out of the side door. In particular, everyone's eyes were on her remarkable backside as she walked away.

Dumbledore waited a few seconds once Fleur Delacour was out the door before raising his arms to regain everyone's attention. "The next Champion should be named momentarily…" the Goblet flared again a few seconds later, and again, Dumbledore snatched the slightly smoldering paper out of the air. "We have a Durmstrang Champion, and his name is Viktor Krum!"

The hall had started to cheer as soon as the first syllable out of Viktor's name was out of the Headmaster's mouth. Krum stood up from his seat, raised one solemn fist into the air, and then went through the same door that Fleur Delacour had.

"No surprise there," Ron said with a grin. "Blimey, Krum's a Champion!"

"This tournament will not be boring, that's for sure," Harry agreed.

"One more Champion is yet to be named," Dumbledore said, doing his best to talk over the chatter of the crowd. "One more Champion from amongst you - please be patient while the Goblet makes its decision."

Less than a minute passed from when Krum's name came out when the third piece of parchment was ejected. Again, Dumbledore snatched it out of the air with precision. Harry wondered if the old Headmaster had once been a Quidditch seeker.

"The Champion for Hogwarts is - " Dumbledore began. He unfolded the piece of parchment and looked at the name. A slight frown crossed his face as he announced the name. "Harry Potter!"

Harry stared at Dumbledore, dumbfounded. He had actually got chosen? Ron patted his back in excitement, prodding him to get up.

"Blimey, can't believe you did it!" Ron said excitedly. "Bloody hell! Harry and Krum!"

Ron appeared to be the only one excited by that fact. As Harry made his way to the front, through a smatter of polite applause and cheers, it was quite evident that not many people had expected him to get chosen. Not even himself, if he was honest. Certainly not Hermione, going by the frozen look of shock on her face, or his girlfriend Lavender whose eyebrows had risen so far up that they disappeared altogether.

Harry was almost completely numb as he made his way towards the side hall. He had actually gotten chosen, over much worthier candidates like Angelina... But... if the Goblet had chosen him, then the Goblet figured him to be more worthy...

It was a lot to take in.

Going quickly through the door, Harry noted the other two Champions. Viktor Krum was brooding in front of the lit fireplace, looking sullen, while Fleur stood off to the side, arms crossed and looking penseive.

Upon him entering, both of the Champions turned to look at him. "You are ze 'Ogwarts Champion?" Delacour asked, barely even sparing him a glance. Her accent was very thick, and she pronounced "Champion" in a very drawn out manner.

"That's right," Harry said. "I'm Harry Potter, pleased to meet both of you."

Harry shook both of their hands and was trying to be friendly. He couldn't help but feel that he was being judged when Fleur looked him up and down, while Krum tried to be imposing. It worked, slightly. They were both three years older, and Fleurs statuesque presence and Krum's legend weighed heavily down upon him. He was starting to feel slightly over his head, because he was just a fourteen year old boy, and his competition was a platinum-blonde French bombshell and a Bulgarian Quidditch prodigy.

Still, they both gave their names in return, even though Harry felt that they had both judged him to be lacking. It was clear that Delecour was not intimidated by two wizards much more famous than she was, and Krum barely showed any emotion at all. Before any more conversation could take place, the door opened again, and the five judges all entered the chamber.

"Excellent, excellent," Ludo Bagman said, excitedly wringing his hands. "Three schools, three Champions. What an excellent event this will be!"

"Indeed," Dumbledore concurred. "An outcome none of us had foreseen, if I do say so myself. I believe we shall get on to the instructions, shall we?"

Mr. Crouch took that moment to step forward. Standing next to Dumbledore, Crouch was a contrast in absurdities. Dumbledore wore flamboyant robes, half-moon glasses, and a gentle smile. Crouch wore the most formal robes he owned, an impeccably trimmed mustache, and a no-nonsense facade.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," Crouch told the three Champions. "So we will not be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of unknown danger is one of the most important qualities in a witch or wizard…"

Crouch trailed off for a few seconds before continuing. "You, as Champions, are not allowed to ask for help of any sort from your professors to complete the tasks. For the first task, you will be armed with only your wand, and you will receive information about the second task immediately upon the conclusion of the First. The five of us will be judging your performance."

"If I may, Barty?" Dumbledore asked, cutting. in. Crouch nodded once. "It's been said already, but I feel it bears repeating. The task will take place on the twenty fourth of November, in front of the other students, and of course, ourselves. As the tasks are designed to be extremely challenging, Champions will be exempt from end of the year exams. Your sole focus should be in preparing for the tasks ahead."

"I do believe that covers everything?" Ludo said excitedly.

"I believe so," Dumbledore replied. He turned to his fellow judges. "Would you all be joining me tonight for a drink?"

Karkaroff, Maxime and Bagman all readily agreed, but Crouch shook his head. "I have to get back to the Ministry."

"Surely that can wait?" Bagman exclaimed. "This is where all the action is!"

"This is a very busy time," Crouch said gruffly. "I left Weatherby in charge… good kid, but a bit excitable. Too excitable if you ask me…"

Dumbledore nodded his head and turned back to the Champions. "You three are dismissed. I daresay you will find celebrations awaiting you upon your return, and I wouldn't dare keep you from that."


	8. Chapter 8

Celebration, as it turned out, had been an understatement. Sure, some people were upset that they didn't get chosen, but that was only natural. Sure, some people were miffed that a fourteen year old got chosen over several seventeen year olds, but that was only natural as well. And sure, some people were annoyed that someone who was already famous was going to get even more so. Again, natural.

That didn't diminish the celebration that had occurred the previous night. Then again, as Harry woke up from his groggy night of sleep, he could hardly recall it.

There had been booze, Harry remembered that. Fred and George broke out the good stuff, and nearly the entire House got plastered. Well, plastered was a strong word.

Harry remembered getting back to the dorm and seeing Gryffindor banners hanging from all of the walls, balloons falling from the ceiling, and enchanted streamers blasting all over the place. He remembered someone placing a drink in his hand, and he remembered the distinct abundance of alcohol in it. And he remembered not caring.

Then… he remembered Lavender. She practically smothered him with her lips, much to the amusement of the rest of the dorm. There were catcalls… and more making out.. And then…

Harry suddenly lurched forward out of his bed, looking around frantically. Something had happened after that, hadn't it? He just couldn't remember what. Panicking, he looked around for his glasses, before finding them in their normal spot on his nightstand.

With a deep breath, Harry tried to figure out if he did something the previous night that he would regret, or that Lavender would regret. It was all so fuzzy…

Carefully, he stepped out of his bed, only to realize that all of his clothes were still on. That was a good sign, right? Harry was asking himself all of the important questions.

Wobbling unsteadily, Harry reached for his trunk, nearly falling over at the sudden feeling of nausea. Carefully, he reached in and grabbed a new set of clothes for the day and headed to the showers.

He stood under the cold water for what felt like an hour. He hadn't drunk that much, had he? One cup, he thought. The headache slowly came on as a slow throb but it persisted and he continued to let the water pour over him.

That was the first time Harry had ever had a drink. A real drink. He had never indulged even after winning the Quidditch House cup. He couldn't say he was too fond of it now, knowing the headache it would result in the next day. It didn't even taste all that great going down.

Regardless, after an hour, Harry stumbled down into the common room, to witness the remnants of the party. Ribbons and confetti were strewn all over the place, as well as empty cups by the dozen. The only students were Fred and George, who were busy huddled over a table in the corner, huge grins spread on their face.

Upon noticing Harry approach, Fred's grin grew. "Why, isn't it our Champion, Harry Potter!"

"All hail, the great Champion!" George guffawed.

"What's got you all chipper this morning?" Harry asked, squinting his eyes.

"We're going through the slips from yesterday," Fred said.

"And?"

"And…" George said, drawing the word out. "You've done us well, Harry."

"How so?"

"Well, Krum was a no brainer. I reckon half the school picked him. But that hot Frenchie Delacour? Four people picked her, none of them French, so probably just at random. We didn't even know what she looked like until she got picked. But then you, dear Harrykins - Champion! And at thirty-five to one, no less!"

"Amazing is what that is," Fred said.

"How many people bet on me?" Harry asked curiously.

"Not nearly enough to matter," George said with a grin. "One girl did hit the triple though, but even so, we've covered and then some. This should help us considerably for the future."

George held up a huge bag laden heavily with coins. "Someone hit the triple?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, that Lovegood girl," Fred said. "Ginny's friend. Picked out all three champions correctly. Luckily, she only bet five knuts, otherwise we may have been in trouble."

"That's good then," Harry replied with a grin. Secretly, he was worried about what the Weasley Twins were capable of when they had decent funding behind their plans.

"Since you're here, you can be the first to collect," Fred said. He reached into a folder and pulled out a receipt, and then reached into another bag and pulled out a smaller bag with a tag that had Harry's name on it. "Your winnings."

Harry hefted the bag in his hand. He only placed a single bet, and of course it was on himself, giving him a nice little payday of gold and silver. It was nothing compared to the grand prize of a thousand galleons, but it was still something.

Harry, moving to go put the gold back in his dorm, was stopped by George. "Hey, do you think we could get a peek at the you-know-what? We know Bagman stayed at the castle last night - came across him when we snuck into Hogsmeade for the afterparty - and we'd like to have a, ahem, talk, with him."

"Sure thing," Harry replied. Walking up the steps with a slight hangover was just as challenging as walking down them, but by sheer force of will he managed it.

In his dorm, Ron was still snoring loudly, extremely unaware of his surroundings. Seamus Finnegan was in a similar state of bliss. For someone who was purportedly Irish to the core, Seamus sure couldn't handle his drink.

Grabbing the Marauder's Map and carefully hiding it as he approached the Twins, he laid it out in front of them.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Fred said, tapping the old map with his wand. Slowly, ink spread across the page, forming the various floors and classrooms that made up Hogwarts. Dots moved around, each labeled with a person's name.

Carefully and methodically, the three of them scanned the map. With over five hundred people currently in the castle, it was quite packed. Luckily, quite a few students were still in bed.

"Dumbledore's in his office alone," Harry pointed out.

"Snape is in his office as well," said Fred.

"Look, Moody is with Crouch," said George.

"That's odd," said Harry.

"How's that?"

"Well, Mr. Crouch made it abundantly clear last night that he had work to do at the Ministry, so he didn't join the other judges for a drink."

"Apparently he lied, since he's right there," George said, pointing at the dot on the map again.

"It's weird. It's not the first time I've seen Crouch in Moody's office. He's there every time I look, actually."

"They're old Ministry buddies," Fred said with a shrug.

"I've seen stranger bedfellows," said George.

"Uhg," Harry said with distaste. "Hey look, Bagman's at the owlery."

"Looks like he just arrived," Fred said. "Reckon we can catch him in time?

"I reckon we can," George agreed, nodding.

"Right. Well, thanks for letting us see this," Fred said. "Oh, and give this to Ron will you?"

Harry barely said okay before the twins were rushing out of the common room. Harry quickly cleared the map and took Ron's winnings that they had given to him for safekeeping. With a shrug, Harry went back up to his dorm room.

Ron was awake now, yawning widely as he got out of bed. Upon seeing Harry, he grinned widely. "What's that you got there?" He asked.

"Your winnings," Harry said, tossing the small back onto Ron's bed. "Your brothers wanted to see the map, so they gave me your winnings to give to you while they chase down Bagman."

"I see," Ron said, reaching down for the back. "Blimey, this is more money than I've ever had."

"I didn't realize you bet on me," Harry said, feeling slightly proud of his friend.

"I bet on all three of us," Ron replied with a shrug. "We're friends, so it made sense. Man, though, you're Champion! That's wicked."

"Thanks," said Harry awkwardly. He had bet a galleon on only himself, but he wasn't going to tell Ron that.

Before long, Ron was getting ready for the day, so Harry was in the common room, waiting around. Hermione soon joined him, though there was a look of concern on her face.

"I didn't think you would actually get chosen," she said.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Harry replied. "I don't think it's really hit me yet."

"They didn't give you any hints about the first task?" she said, recalling their conversation from the previous night. "None at all?"

"None. They just said the only thing I can bring with me is my wand."

"I guess that means we're going to have to study even harder."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "I've got three and a half weeks to prepare something that I don't know. I don't suppose 'Hogwarts, a History' has any insight?"

"Nothing that would get your hopes up," she replied. "Unless you like knowing about how a nundu took apart all the champions on three separate occasions."

"Not particularly," Harry admitted. "Hey, was Lavender still up in your dorm?"

Hermione nodded her head. "She got to bed until pretty late, but she sounded upset. Did something happen?"

"I don't think so," said Harry. "Honestly, I barely remember any of last night. Pretty wild party."

Hermione rolled her eyes this time. "You barely had anything to drink," she replied. "And not enough to get a two year old drunk."

"Really?" asked Harry.

"Yes, really," she said. "You were probably drunk on excitement, rather than anything else.. Congrats, by the way. I don't know if I actually said that."

"Thanks," Harry replied with shrug. He wasn't going to correct Hermione by telling her that there was a couple empty bottles of firewhiskey up in their dorm room. He didn't remember how they got there, but he certainly felt like he had some part in draining them.

Ron chose that moment to make his presence known. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "What has you so chipper?"

"I've got more than two sickles to my name now," he replied with a smile. "And Harry's Champion. If he wins, think how much richer we'll all be! What do you say Harry, old boy, up for some spell practice?"

"I was thinking breakfast first," said Harry.

"Splendid idea!" Ron replied joyously. "Let's get some kippers, then off to the library!"

Ron marched right out of the common room, leaving both Harry and Hermione speechless.

"Did he just volunteer to go to the library?" Hermione asked incredulously. "With his own free will?"

"I think that's what just happened," Harry said with a small amount of awe. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he was the one who's life was at risk in a little over three weeks."

Hermione shook her head as she got up from the couch, her bushy brown hair billowing everywhere. "He really wants you to win," she said. "We both stand to get over three hundred galleons if you win. That means a lot to him. But to me, you winning means a lot more."

"I know," Harry replied. "Thank you. Shall we follow him down to breakfast?"

"It's nearly lunch time," Hermione replied.

"Shall we follow him down to lunch?" Harry said, correcting himself.

Lunch was interesting. Most of Hogwarts was there, though with different levels of enthusiasm. Harry couldn't picture the Slytherins holding any sort of party over Harry getting picked as Champion. Nor either of the other houses, for that matter. Though, now that he thought about it, he vaguely remembered a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in their common room last night.

Shaking his head, Harry began to load up his plate with food. A sandwich and some chips was not the worst thing ever to have to eat while dealing with congratulations from half of the school.

It was nice that people were showing support. Angelina congratulated him, as did Cedric Diggory and a host of others. Students he didn't know as well, both younger and older. Even a couple of Slytherins.

Lavender and Parvati came down eventually, though there were no spots at the table close to Harry for them to sit, so they merely waved and took a spot where they could. Harry returned the wave, remembering back on Lavender's congratulation the night before. It brought a smile to his face, though nothing serious had happened. Nothing that he could remember, at any rate.

Viktor Krum was in a similar position. He had a near constant crowd surrounding him at all times, yet with a little bit of confidence, he managed to get where he was going without tripping over anyone, or without even slowing down. It was apparent that many students took this as a prime opportunity to try and get his signature, even though he was now a competitor against their own school.

The exact opposite was happening to Fleur Delacour. Instead of a bunch of hangers on, there was merely a single girl with brown hair who was at Fleur's side, presumably her best friend or confidante. Occasionally an older boy from Hogwarts would stop by and try to make small talk with her, only to be spurned away with a quick word or sometimes just a glance. It was strange, seeing her sit mostly by herself at the Ravenclaw table, despite the other French students being mere feet away. There was definitely some sort of segregation going on - harsh feelings perhaps. Harry did recall seeing a few of them almost breaking down into tears when their own name didn't called out, so jealousy was a very real possibility. The French Champion didn't seem to mind at all though, as she was deep in conversation with the other girl.

Harry, having enough of everyone and their mom trying to talk to him, opted to get to class early. Not that there were classes that day, or that even if there was, he didn't have to go because of his new status as Champion. He could beg off, citing that he needed to do "research" for whatever the task was, not that he even knew what the first task was, now that he was actually in it.

He decided that the Owlery was where he needed to go. He hadn't written to Sirius yet, and he'd figured that getting chosen as Hogwart's representative in the Triwizard Tournament qualified as something that his godfather would want to know.

Just as he made it to the main staircase, someone tugged on his robe. Turning around and silently hoping that it wasn't yet _another_ person wanting his autograph, he sighed out loud. He noticed that it was his girlfriend, Lavender.

"Oh hey," he said. "I just needed to get out of there - I've never been good with large crowds."

Lavender nodded her head and gave him a small, reluctant smile. "We need to talk," she said. "In private."

Harry was suddenly very wary. No good ever came from those words. Well, unless it turned into an intense make-out session, but Lavender's tone suggest otherwise. There had been nothing suggestive about the way she said it.

"Okay," Harry said slowly. "There's an old defense classroom nearby. We can go there."

They had a different defense classroom pretty much every year, depending on the new professor's needs. If they ever managed the same professor for more than a year, then perhaps it would be different, so for now, the two of them entered a disused classroom that was once Lockhart's old room. It was fairly close the the Great Hall, yet wasn't a common foot path.

"Alright, we should be safe to talk," Harry said, casting a locking charm and silencing charm on the door.

"First, I want to say congratulations again. I don't think I actually said that last night."

"I remember you being a bit… preoccupied." Harry remembered her jumping him and snogging him senseless in front of the whole common room.

Lavender smiled, but again, it was a bit reluctant. "I want you to win this thing, Harry."

"Thank you," Harry replied.

"This is serious," she said. "I know you've been training with Ron and Hermione, preparing for this. I admit, I am a bit jealous of the bond you have, but you've gone through so much together with them that it may be a bit irrational… but I want to help. I'm not as smart as Hermione, not by half, and I don't have the steadfast determination of Ron, but I want to help."

"Don't compare yourself to them," Harry replied gently. "You are plenty smart, and beautiful… it's just that -"

"You don't have to make an excuse, Harry, I understand. What we have is fun, but it's not serious. I don't think it can be. But, I know how I can help you. I can help you by not being a distraction."

"What are you suggesting?" Harry said, having a bad feeling about where this was going.

"Like I said, I want you to win this thing, but your competition is super tough. A Quidditch prodigy who's a glutton for punishment, and that French girl whose looks are a distraction for her skill - she would not have be a Champion if she couldn't use a wand. You're going to need to give this your all, and I don't want to get in the way. I don't want to be an afterthought, and I don't want people to blame me if something happens to go wrong."

Harry sighed and slumped down onto a desk, burning his face into his palms. He really didn't need this right now. "You'll never be an afterthought to me," he said.

"Won't I be? You _have_ to give this tournament your full attention. This isn't a game - Merlin knows how many times Dumbledore mentioned the death toll of it. I don't want our relationship to be some half-hearted thing. We both deserve better than that. I'm not a selfish person, so I'm making the choice for you. I don't think we should continue seeing each other, not while the tournament is still happening."

"You're breaking up with me," Harry stated flatly.

"We can still be friends," Lavender said with a weak smile. She was struggling to hold back her tears, trying to be strong. "If you want, that is. We were friends before we started dating, and if you want to try this again once this tournament is over, I'd be open to it. But we both deserve better than this. _Everyone_ is going to be watching you, and I just don't think our relationship would last through that kind of scrutiny."

"I see," Harry said with a frown. "What if, when this is over, I don't want to try again? What if I find someone else?"

"That's your decision," she said. "Heck, if a month from now when you're so bogged down with research and need a break, you can come snog me silly if that is the inspiration you need - whatever it is that you need to to do win. But, pretending that our relationship is going to go anywhere with this tournament going on is doing us both a disservice."

"I understand," Harry finally said after a minute, releasing a deep sigh.

"Are you mad at me?" Lavender asked when Harry was not saying anymore.

"No, I'm not," Harry replied glumly. "I guess I should have seen this coming, really. We never really did have anything in common, you know. It wouldn't have lasted forever."

"I know. It was a new experience for both of us, and I'm glad we shared the time we did have."

"Me too." Harry said. His face was marred by a deep frown

"Breaking off now seems better than using getting into a shouting match in the middle of the common room."

"It does, a little," Harry said. "Or getting over an argument over accusations that someone is trying to steal your man now that I'm a Champion."

Lavender rolled her eyes, but cracked a small smile. "Nothing changes you know - you're still Harry Potter, and believe it or not, you're still more famous than Krum."

"It's never really mattered before," Harry said. "But that's why I wanted to be a Champion - to be known for something other than this stupid scar."

"It's never mattered to me," Lavender said. "Anyone who's known you for more than a week will say the same thing."

"Thanks," said Harry.

"It's what friends are for," Lavender said. "And I am really sorry for bringing this on you know - it seems like bad timing, but I didn't think it was going to get any better. I figured it would be better for both of us to just get it out of the way."

"I appreciate it," Harry said. "Well, not a whole lot, but some. You did just dump me, but you had good reasons."

"Now you have no excuse to not win the first task," said Lavender. "I want you to give it your all."

"I will. You can count on that."

* * *

Despite the super awkward breakup that somehow resulted in both of them still being okay-ish friends, Harry's mood was still pretty high. Truthfully, neither one of them had any serious feelings for the other. They both knew that going into the relationship, and neither one of them pretended any differently.

Still, it was a new experience for Harry. He should be upset. Angry. He should be smashing desks apart with relentless abandon, cursing at the injustice of it all. But, he felt sort of calm, as if a burden had been lifted off his shoulders. It was one less pressure on him now, physically, if not emotionally.

As he made his way up to the owlery, his thoughts were still stuck on Lavender. They had been the first couple in their year. That he knew of, at any rate. He did know that he was the first of the fourth-year Gryffindor boys to kiss another girl, to have a girlfriend, and now, to be broken up with.

Sure, it had only lasted about a month and a half, but it had been fun. That was the biggest reason they had worked at all, though also because they were both very undemanding of each other. Harry had initially asked her out because she was attractive, and Lavender had said yes, mostly because he was the first person to ask. Not exactly building blocks for a serious relationship, but it had worked out fairly well.

If it had been serious, Lavender wouldn't have broken up with him. Harry realized that, but it was too late now. As he thought about it, he probably wouldn't change it anyway. Neither one of them wanted a serious relationship, and it never looked like it was going to be one, so neither of them forced the issue. And, as such, the relationship crumbled.

There was a lesson to be learned in all of that, Harry was sure. What that lesson was, he didn't quite know yet. He had other things to worry about, such as the whole Triwizard Tournament thing. That was the reason Lavender had broken up with him to begin with.

It was going to be tough, telling his friends about the breakup and expecting them to understand. None of them knew what it was like. Ron would make a joke and shrug his shoulders, and Hermione would clinically reference a book she had read on the subject, but he couldn't really talk to any of them about it.

He could talk to Sirius about it though. Instead of writing to him about how he got picked as a Champion, he could also tell him how his girlfriend broke up with him the very next day. His godfather would surely get a laugh out of that

On second thought, Harry decided telling his godfather about the breakup would not be the smart thing. It seemed like something Sirius would hold over his head for a long time to come. Ultimately, he thought it best to let his godfather learn the news from his own mouth rather than read about it in the Daily Prophet.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry let out a groan as he slowly woke up. Someone was shaking his shoulder and saying his name loudly. "Ugh, what's wrong?" he asked as he put his glasses on. Slowly, Neville Longbottom came into view.

"You slept through breakfast," he said. "You've got class in a few minutes."

Harry groaned again as his thoughts came into focus. He had been with Ron for most of the night, practicing a spell and trying to get over his breakup with Lavender. It was tough, trying to prepare for a task he knew nothing about, but he had to do _something_. Last night's _something_ happened to be rebound hex or reversing hex… the proper name was some latin word that Harry couldn't pronounce properly. Regardless, it was a spell that caused things to rebound. It made it so that if something left its location, it would be pulled back in some manner. It had a vast amount of possible uses, but most of them were quite obtuse. They figured it would be another way to not get lost if it was completely dark out, or to not lose track of an object by feeling its constant pull.

Just thinking about the spell caused Harry to groan again. It had been bloody difficult, and they made pretty much no progress on it. Hermione hadn't been there, as she had an Ancient Runes essay to finish. Harry couldn't begrudge her too much, since while he had the option to skip class for Tournament related research, his friends didn't. That didn't stop Ron for staying with him until three in the morning trying to get it done, and he was very appreciative of that.

Speaking of exemptions, he mentioned that to Neville. "I don't have to go to class. As a Champion, I can use researching as an excuse."

"Right," Neville agreed. "You told us that. But, if Snape finds out that your 'research' involves sleeping through double Potions in the comfort of your bed, drooling onto your soft pillow, you can bet it will only backfire on you later on."

"Damn," Harry cursed, practically jumping out of his bed. "We've got _double_ Potions today?"

"Yeah, in about fifteen minutes. If it had been Divination or something, I would've let you sleep in."

"Right, right," Harry said, getting out of the bed. "Good call, thanks."

Harry went into speed mode, getting ready for the day. Snape would not be happy if he was late. The fact that Harry had somehow gotten himself picked as a Champion only had caused Snape to become more incensed at Harry's mere presence.

With no time to shower, Harry had to settle for a charm. It was mostly a superficial thing, masking smells, making him feel clean, and giving all the appearance of having showered, but it was not the same thing as actually having done so. There was a fine distinction, but there was a reason that everyone used toothbrushes rather than just spelling away all of the uncleanliness.

They made it to Potions with about a second to spare. It was only Harry's intuitive knowledge of the castle that allowed them to make it there with such speed. It didn't involve any secret passages, just knowledge that taking the fourth floor staircase down to the second was about two minutes quicker than taking the third floor to the main floor.

Harry sat down next to Ron (who looked like he hadn't actually gotten any sleep), while Neville took the open seat behind him next to Hermione. Having been the last one to arrive in class, his seat just also happened to be next to Lavender's. Since the break up two weeks ago, they'd been cordial, but little more. It was tough, and he still spent a lot of time thinking about what he could have done differently.

"You were almost late," Lavender hissed to him, trying to keep her voice low. "What gives?"

"Practicing," Harry replied under his breath. Snape was looking at them from the front of the class, starting an introduction to antidotes. Harry dreaded Snape having _anything_ to do with poisons.

"I guess you didn't see the paper then," she said, slamming the newspaper onto his table. The noise got the attention of Snape, but Lavender played it off as if she had been moving her textbook.

"What am I looking at?" asked Harry in a low voice.

"I want you to explain that to me," Lavender whispered angrily, pointing at the front page where there was a picture of him and an image of a broken heart, along with a blurb telling readers to go to page three.

Harry, dreading about what he was going to find, tucked the paper under his arm while Snape told them all to get into pairs to begin brewing. He had to prod Ron to get a move on, as his ginger-haired friend was barely able to stay awake.

During the shuffle of students gathering cauldrons, supplies, and books, Harry took the opportunity to read the story. As a self-imposed rule, Harry rarely read the newspaper. There was just almost nothing of relevance in it, usually just gossip being passed off as truth.

" **Boy-Who-Lived or Boy-Who-Breaks-Hearts?"**

Harry sighed. What a ridiculous moniker, he thought to himself. Slowly, he began to read the story, only to become more and more outraged as each paragraph bored itself into his skull.

The story quoted parts of his conversation with Lavender from earlier in the month, when Lavender had cornered him in a classroom. They had both made sure that the door was locked and silencing charms were up, twice. Yet someone had heard him, _and_ recorded what they had spoken about.

Except, they picked and chose select parts of what he said, distorting it. Twice, they even switched around some of the dialog, making it look like he responded different than he actually did.

It infuriated him.

"It took them two weeks to publish this?" Harry questioned angrily. "How did they even get this?"

"I don't know," Lavender replied, still mad. "We were very careful."

"You're not angry at me, are you?" Harry said. "I had nothing to do with this."

"I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at the fat sod who wrote that."

Harry looked down at the article once more, searching for the journalist's name. "Rita Skeeter," Harry said.

"That woman is a piece of work," Lavender replied. "She writes nonsense against _everyone_. The stuff she wrote about Dumbledore during the summer… She's even written about you before."

"Really? I haven't given a single interview in my life," he said.

"She doesn't let the truth get in the way of a story," Lavender replied. "But this one makes no sense - like who honestly cares that we broke up two weeks ago?"

Harry shrugged. "I've got that publicity thing for the Tournament today - maybe she'll be there."

"I hope you hex her good," said Lavender, deadly serious.

"My mother loves Rita Skeeter," Ron said, butting in as he chopped up ingredients.

"Your mom also loves Gilderoy Lockhart," Harry pointed out.

Ron snorted. "That's true," he replied. "Think I should tell her that he tried to Obliviate me?"

"That's your call, mate," said Harry.

They got down to making the potion; an antidote used to counteract poisoning from a wyvern sting **.** It wasn't one of their best works, with Ron nearly taking off two of his fingers with his knife, and Harry was so distracted that even Neville almost did better than them.

They had just gotten to the third stage, which required seven anti-clockwise stirs while Moonglove was slowly added, when there was a knock on the classroom's door. Snape waved his wand, causing the door to slowly creak open.

A third year boy hesitantly entered the room. Colin Creevy. Harry didn't like the kid at all - he was just too excitable, but Snape's mere presence was able to subdue him.

"Professor Snape, sir…" the boy said, walking up to the professor.

"Yes…?" Snape replied. His eyes bored into Creevy's skull, as if he were trying to light him on fire with a mere glare.

"Um, I was sent to bring Harry Potter upstairs," Creevy said in a small voice.

"He has another hour of Potions left," Snape replied. "He can go when the class is finished."

"But, um, Mr. Bagman said it was important," Creevy said, gathering up all the Gryffindor courage he could. "All the Champions - I think they're taking photographs."

Harry cringed. Announcing to the world that he was being pulled out of Potions for a _photo session_ would be something Snape would hold over his head until they day he died, and probably long after.

"Very well," Snape said, as if he disagreed completely. "Potter can leave his things here, and he can come back afterwards to test his antidote."

"Sir, he's got to take his stuff with him, Bagman said -"

"FINE!" Snape snapped. "Potter, take your bags and leave! But don't think this means you are getting off easy! I _will_ have your antidote, one way or another!"

Harry didn't reply. Instead, he merely picked his bag up, gave an apologetic glance to Ron, and left the room with Creevy following shortly after. He knew Ron wouldn't hold it against him, being able to skip out on Potions early, but he'd rather not have gone to begin with.

Not knowing where he was going, Creevy quickly took the lead, taking him up onto the second floor and into a small classroom. Creevy had done his best to engage in small talk, but Harry's quick one-word responses gave the hint that he didn't wish to talk about it.

Harry _hated_ publicity, but he knew he had to expect this, becoming a Champion. He had gone fourteen years of his life so far without giving a single interview, or posing for a single picture. But, that hadn't stopped people from printing books about him, or even publishing articles about his apparent love life. Copyright law wasn't really a thing in the wizarding world, as long as no one was trying to pass off stuff that directly used his image or likeness. Things such as poseable Harry Potter action figures, pretending he endorsed products without his permission, or trying to pass off an unauthorized autobiography were some of the things that weren't strictly legal.

The classroom was small, with the majority of the desks pushed up against one wall, leaving the middle empty. There was a small table set up covered with purple velvet, with the five judges sitting behind it and observing the 'event'.

The other Champions were already there. Viktor Krum was doing his best to blend in with a wall, looking sullen as he stood by himself. Fleur was chatting happily with her Headmistress in French. That was a bit odd - not the talking in French part, but rather by the fact that she seemed to be happy. In the time she had been at Hogwarts so far, Harry hadn't recalled her looking anything other than absolutely miserable at all times, as if the castle itself was doing its very best to offend her at every opportunity.

In addition to the Champions and judges, there were a variety of photographers and journalists. Harry counted at least a dozen in total, and they did quite a lot to make the already small room feel even smaller.

Upon seeing Harry enter the room, Bagman was bouncing with excitement. "Our third Champion!" he exclaimed. "Now we can start the wand weighing ceremony!"

"I'm not really sure what's involved with this," Harry admitted.

"Nothing to be worried about, I assure you," Bagman said with a smile. "It's mostly ceremonial. Your wands will be inspected to make sure they are in perfect working order for the tasks ahead - it would look poorly if a Champion would have a malfunction mid-task! And then afterwards, there'll be some pictures, and a couple short interviews to get the Champions' profiles out there for everyone who will be following the tournament at home…"

"I see," Harry replied.

"Good, good!" replied Bagman, waving his arms in a dramatic fashion. To Harry, the man seemed _too_ excited, but then again, he had probably taken one too many bludgers to the head during his days as a professional Beater. "I promise it won't take too long!"

As part of some pre-arranged set up, Ludo Bagman then stepped back while Dumbledore stood up from his seat to address the room. "Mr. Ollivander, if you would?"

Harry hadn't noticed the old wandmaker - he had been standing unobtrusively off to the side, and gazing out of the window onto the forest below. He was a slightly stoop-backed old man, who looked marginally older than the last time Harry saw him three years previous. He wore a large pair of glasses that balanced on the edge of his nose, yet never seemed to topple over, and were also connected to a golden chain that looped around the back of his head.

"I am Garrick Ollivander," the wandmaker said, addressing the crowd. "Proprietor of Ollivander's in Diagon Alley and run by my family for over two-thousand years. We have overseen the Weighing of the Wands ceremony here at Hogwarts ever since the first, and it is with great honor that I continue that tradition…"

Ollivander gazed at the three Champions, utterly ignoring the reporters who were simultaneously scribbling down what Ollivander was saying, and seemingly doing their best to be uninterested in the proceedings.

"Ladies first, if you would, Mademoiselle Delacour?" Ollivander beckoned the French witch up to the velvet-covered tabled.

Standing imperiously, Fleur nevertheless presented her wand to the old craftsman with delicate care. Ollivander took it and immediately held it up to his eyes, adjusting his glasses as he did so.

"Hm," he said with an interesting tone that explained nothing. Then, with a twirl of the wand, pink sparks shot out the end. Again, he held it up to his eyes.

"Nine and a half inches… Rosewood… and I do believe it contains a strand of hair from a Veela? Marvelous."

"One of my grandmuzzer's," Fleur confirmed.

"I've never used it myself, I've found Veela hair to be a bit tempermental for general work, but to each their own…"

Ollivander paused to contemplate his own words while examining the workmanship of the wand. Then, with a final flourish, he conjured a bouquet of flowers and presented both the wand and flowers to Fleur with a gentlemanly bow. Fleur accepted them with good grace.

"Everything seems to be in fine working order. Your wand will serve you well in the challenges ahead. Now, Mr. Krum, if you would?"

Krum stepped forward and presented the wandmaker his wand with little flair. He barely even uncrossed his arms when doing so, trying to look as surly as possible.

In a similar manner to the first wand, Ollivander once again held the wand up to his eyes, looking down the length of it. "A Gregorovitch creation," he said after a few seconds, "His choice of designs have always interested me, though they're not quite to my preference… this one is much thicker than you'd typically see… Stout, ten and quarter inches… Hornbeam and dragon heartstring, a reliable combination I have made use of as well…"

Ollivander jabbed the wand suddenly, and after a blast that sounded like a cannon, a flock of birds poured out of the wand before disappearing into the air.

"Good, good. This wand will do you well," Ollivander said, giving Krum back his wand. The quidditch star took it and immediately went back to his spot on the wall where he reclined with a foot up. "Mr. Potter's turn."

Harry walked up and presented his wand to Ollivander. He didn't bother to hold it up to his eyes like the last time. "I remember this wand well," he said, smelling the wood. "An unusual combination, but not unheard of. Phoenix feather and holly…"

Harry shivered at the memory of getting his first wand. Getting it had been validation for him, that he was actually a wizard, and that he now owned the very symbol of magic, a wand. But, it hadn't been without a price. The knowledge that his wand was the brother to Voldemort's wand, the same wand that had given him his scar and killed his parents, was very unsettling.

"Eleven inches long. A very finicky wand, but to those of correct compatibility... massive potential."

Ollivander took another minute to examine the wand, making sure it was structurally sound, before conjuring a fountain of wine out of the tip. Satisfied, he handed the wand back to Harry. "I hope my creation will serve you well for many decades to come, Mr. Potter."

"That's good, that's good," Dumbledore said as Ollivander stepped back. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander for inspecting our young Champions' wands. Now, it is time for pictures and interviews."

None of the three Champions were thrilled about pictures. Krum, if possible, looked even surlier than he had before. If he went any farther, a storm cloud would likely form around his head. Harry was almost in the same mood, since he absolutely detested photos of himself. One of the photographers, a female, kept pushing him into the middle of the picture, while another, a male, kept pushing Fleur forward.

Harry at least knew why, now. Ron had been right. Fleur _was_ a Veela, at least in part. She was almost unnaturally attractive, and it was obvious to everyone in the room. How people reacted to that was entirely different, with some people being indifferent, while others, mostly women, were almost outrightly hostile towards her. Harry didn't think there was anything magical going on, just that Fleur Delacour was astonishingly attractive due to good genes.

Regardless, after about fifteen minutes, they had pictures of individual Champions, the three Champions together, a few with a Champion and their school's Headmistress or Headmaster, and lastly, a picture with all three Champions and all five judges.

"Great, now it's time to put a story to all of the faces," said Dumbledore. "The journalists will ask questions, in a controlled manner, mind you, and you will be free to answer them however you please, or not answer them at all."

"Can I ask a question before we start?" Harry asked.

"Certainly," Dumbledore replied.

"Which one of you is Rita Skeeter?" Harry looked around at the reporters. They all twittered nervously, but eventually an middle-aged woman with horrendous fashion-sense answered.

"I am, dear," she replied with a predatory smile. "Does it bother you that I am here?"

"I just want to thank you for that lovely article you wrote about me and my ex-girlfriend."

"Oh, it was nothing," Rita replied, making a mocking hand gesture as if she was waving the compliment away.

"No, it was something," Harry said, anger starting to boil up inside of him. "My favorite part was when you took everything we said out of context, and even changed the order of which some things were said, all for some purpose I am not sure of. Actually, no, my favorite part is the fact that that conversation happened two weeks ago, in private, in a room that had silencing charms up. And, we checked for listening charms as well. I am very interested to know how you listened in on us."

Dumbledore turned towards Rita. "As am I," he said, suddenly looking quite serious. "You were not authorized to be on Hogwart's Grounds at all until today. And writing about two underaged students? Deplorable."

"You cannot prove that it was I who had been there," Rita replied with a sweet smile. "As for private lives… Harry Potter is the Hogwarts Champion, so he is free game as far as I am concerned."

"I am, but Lavender Brown is not." Harry replied with a hard stare. "There's a reason I don't give interviews, because people like you ruin it for everyone else. I want her gone."

"Very well," Dumbledore replied, a twinkle in his eye. "It will be done."

"You can't do this, Dumbledore!"

"It seems like your lack of journalistic integrity is finally catching up to you, Rita," he said with a smile. "There are people less lenient than I in this world. So, I, Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, hereby formally revoke your media privileges at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you do not leave immediately, the Aurors will be summoned."

Rita ground her teeth. "You have not heard the last of me, Dumbledore! You should fear what a bit of bad press can do to someone in your position!"

She grabbed the arm of her photographer and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Right, on to the interviews then!" Bagman exclaimed as if nothing had happened. "Unless Harry has anyone else he'd like to see ejected."

"No, it's fine," said Harry. "But if someone here muddles anything that I say…you can forget ever getting an exclusive from me ever again."

There was a minute of silence before the reporters regained their bravery. Harry had acted a lot braver than he had actually felt, but he felt like he had accomplished what he wanted to.

"This is the first time you've had an official interview," a female reporter of about thirty-five replied. "I don't think anyone would want to mess this up. It's about time someone stood up to that vile woman."

Harry shrugged. "Her actions were unlawful and I have half a mind to pursue legal recourse, if it were not for the Tournament taking up a majority of my time. Perhaps at a later date, but for now, I give my consent for this interview."

"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I assure you that the matter will be looked into. But for now, we have three Champions who would like to give their honest and accurate opinions on the Tournament. Please, use standard lines of questioning. Feel free to begin."

All the journalists immediately raised their hands, and Dumbledore picked one at random.

"Melinda Malone, with the Weekly Arcane Digest. I have a question for Viktor Krum."

"I vill answer as best as I can," Viktor said. He looked a bit uncomfortable, perhaps since he did not have his usual Quidditch publicity agent there to help manage the questions. He was mostly on his own, though Karkaroff was keeping a close eye on things.

"What is your motivation for entering the Tournament, and do you consider the Triwizard Cup to be a loftier prize than the Quidditch World Championship Cup?"

"I vant to show the world that I am more than just a seeker. I vant to show the world that I am the absolute best. I hope one day to be both Triwizard Champion _and_ Quidditch World Champion."

"Thank you," Melinda responded, writing down what had been said.

"Next?" Dumbledore asked. He quickly pointed at another reporter, an older man in his sixties.

"Maurice Dunbar of Transfiguration Today. My question is for Harry Potter."

Harry leaned forward and gave his attention to the reporter. This would be his first time going on official record, and he didn't want to mess it up. "Ask away."

"Thank you. Being three years younger than the other competitors, what personal challenges did you face when you decided to become a Champion?"

Harry paused a second to consider the question carefully. "The biggest challenge is conquering the misconceptions that people have about me. People think that they know me because they read about me and my story in a book or newspaper… but they really don't. I'm in this to try and prove to everybody that I am more than just the Boy-Who-Lived, but in order to do that, I need to play catch-up. Both Fleur and Viktor have three more years of schooling than I do, so I have spent nearly every waking moment of the last two months preparing for this tournament. I would go into specific details, but I don't want to give anything away…"

"Understandable, Mr. Potter," Maurice Dunbar replied. "Another question, if I may?"

"Certainly."

"How do the other students feel about you, being their Champion? Some may feel like you are famous enough, and that you shouldn't hog the spotlight all to yourself."

"There were a hundred other students who put their name in the goblet. If one of them is upset that I got chosen over them, they've kept quiet. I've got something to prove to them, as well as myself, and I plan on doing exactly that."

"Thank you," Dumbledore replied. "Next question?"

"Jeanette of _The Parisian_. Another question for Mr. Potter."

Harry sighed, but nodded his head. He had expected most of the questions to be directed at him.

"What exactly is it that you think you have to prove?" the French reporter asked. Despite being French, her English was quite good. Better than some of the people Harry knew, at any rate. "You defeated You-know-who. Surely that means you don't have to prove yourself to anyone? "

"I do not believe my survival on that night had anything to do with any innate talent that I have. Rather, I believe my survival was based solely on my mother's sacrifice, in which she invoked a brand of magic that few understand. If anyone deserves to be famous, it is my mother, but people have put me on a pedestal, expecting me to do great things. I want to put that behind me, and I feel like winning the Triwizard Cup will prove that I am more than just a silly moniker. Now, I think that's enough questions for me at this moment. Viktor is far more relevant than I am, and Fleur is far more beautiful. Please, their stories are much more interesting than my own, I'm sure."

The journalists spent a minute writing down Harry's statement before Dumbledore called on another.

"Question for Miss Delacour," a man with long blonde hair said.

"Of course, Monsieur … ?"

"Xenophilius Lovegood, Editor of the Quibbler." the man said. "Do you believe your Veela heritage gives you an advantage, perhaps an unfair advantage, over the other Champions?"

"Non," she replied. "I do not possess any of ze racial traits zat my grandmuzzer, or her muzzer, possess. I am a witch first and foremost. But zere is a perception, and zat perception can be an advantage, if it is used. Much in the same way zat people think Viktor Krum is only good at Qu _ee_ d _ee_ tch, or Harry Potter is just a l _ee_ tle boy in over his head. You will see things zat you never thought possible from all of us, I assure you."

The questions continued in that vein for some time. And while it seemed like most of the reporters were mostly interested in Harry, including topics that were not strictly relevant to the Triwizard Tournament, they got steered to the other Champions often enough to not feel like they were being overshadowed.

All in all, it had been a very long day, especially considering how few hours of sleep he had gotten. But, he got to skip the majority of double Potions, so that was worth it in his opinion. The Champions had even bonded a little bit over their shared disdain of reporters, though they would undoubtedly still exploit every weakness in the others that they could.

Harry was dead tired as he finally made it back to the Gryffindor common room. He splashed down onto the first open couch he saw. Some of the other fourth years were already there, including Lavender.

"So, how much crap did you get for that article today?" Harry asked.

Lavender sighed. "Too much. People _hate_ me now, as if I offended them personally."

"That sucks," replied Harry, feeling genuinely sorry for her. "They'll forget all about it once the next scandalous thing gets reported. Plus, Dumbledore kicked that Skeeter woman out of the press conference today. Hogwarts _is_ a private establishment, after all."

"That's good," Lavender replied tersely. "Doesn't explain how she even heard our conversation though."

"No, it doesn't" Harry agreed. "I don't expect she'll take the boot quietly, so perhaps we'll find out later."

Lavender got up and left a minute later. Their relationship had been okay after the breakup. They had been on semi-friendly terms, but it had been mostly how it had been before they went out. Now, Lavender seemed distant, and he couldn't blame her. It wasn't easy for him either, and he still spent more time than he'd care to admit thinking about their breakup.

However, Harry's thoughts were distracted when Ron entered the room, ashen-faced as if he had just seen someone die.

"Something wrong, Ron?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head and plopped down onto the couch next to him. "You mean other than Snape practically killing me once you left Potions?"

"Yeah other than that," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

Ron let out a long suffering sigh before responding. "I got a letter today. At Lunch."

"Bad news?" asked Harry.

"The worst," Ron confirmed solemnly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry replied.

"Don't be sorry for me," said Ron. "It's bad news for you."

"Don't tell me it's over that crap in the Daily Prophet."

"No, it's even worse than that," said Ron. "My brother Charlie wrote to me."

"And?" Harry asked. Harry didn't see why that was so noteworthy.

"He's in town, and he wants to meet up with the rest of us," Ron replied.

"Okay…." Harry said slowly.

Ron sighed in frustration. He was practically asleep on his feet and he was a bit short on temper. "Do you know how many times Charlie has been back home since he finished Hogwarts?"

"Well, he was there for the World Cup," Harry pointed out

"Yeah. Aside from that, I've only seen him three times in four years," said Ron. "Once for one of his friends weddings, and twice for Christmas."

"I'm still not following," said Harry.

"You know what he does, right? In Romania?"

"He works with dragons…" Harry said slowly. Then, his eyes widened in realization. "You're not suggesting…?"

Ron nodded, glad that Harry finally caught on. "The only reason my brother would be in town is if it were for business, and that must mean that the first task involves dragons."

"Ah," Harry said simply. "Bollocks."


	10. Chapter 10

"You see anything yet, mate?" Ron called out to Harry.

"Hush, we don't want to be heard," Harry replied, softly enough to barely be heard over the wind rustling the leaves of the trees.

Flying over the Forbidden Forest was exhilarating for both of them, even though they were both riding on old school brooms. The plan had been simple. Sneak outside Hogwarts and go to the Quidditch Pitch. Break into the broom shed. Borrow a couple of brooms. Apply Disillusionment Charms. Fly around until they found where the dragons were hiding.

Sneaking out had been easy. They were both well versed in that art, and the Marauder's Map and Harry's invisibility cloak made it easy. Unlocking the broomshed was easy too - Harry's lockpick that he had bought on his date with Lavender had come in handy for that. It's not like the old used brooms were worth anything, so the broomshed wasn't exactly as secure as Gringotts.

The Disillusionment Charm was something else altogether. They, along with Hermione, had learned it in the previous week, and it was dreadfully difficult, for good reason. Spells like that weren't taught at Hogwarts, since they would likely only ever be used for nefarious purposes, such as Fred and George sneaking into the Slytherin common room to set off dung bombs. Or, in this case, Harry and Ron flying over the Forbidden Forest unseen.

Harry hadn't thought it to be a good idea for both of them to ride a single broom under his invisibility cloak, so they had to apply a bit of their training in applying the charm. Now, if it had been Lavender Brown, he might have made an exception and totally went for a passenger on his Firebolt.

Truthfully, they were both rubbish at the spell. In the darkness of the night, Harry could still sort of make out Ron's shimmering form, and Harry knew his wasn't much better. But the chances of someone actually spotting them flying in the nighttime sky was close to zero regardless.

As it was, they were flying stealthily all over the Hogwarts grounds, looking for where the alleged dragons were being kept. They were using one of the spells they had learned a few months back to keep track of other objects, in this case, each others broom, so they didn't get separated. The dragons had to be _somewhere_ close by, but not so close as to be seen from the castle. And with only a few short days left until the Task, they had to be nearby on hand. That made sense, in theory.

The first place they had looked had been the Quidditch Pitch. It was an obvious choice, but the wooden stadium looked untouched. Dumbledore had suspended the inter-house Quidditch league in case they needed to use the stadium, but right now, it just looked disused. There had been some talk of hosting an international Quidditch game between the three schools, but so far, nothing had come of it.

If the dragons weren't at the pitch, that meant the only place they could be was somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. And the forest was large, very large. Hundreds upon hundreds of acres in all directions. Harry and Ron flew high up in the dark sky, peering down into the massive expanse of trees, searching any hints.

They would have thought it'd be easy, to find dragons. They're large creatures, breathe fire, and make a ton of noise. Not exactly subtle. But, wizards could be very good at hiding things, if they chose.

After an hour of searching, the two Gryffindors were ready to call it quits. If Hermione had been there, they likely would have found the hiding spot within minutes, but she wouldn't go near a broom, not even for a good cause.

Ron looked like was just starting to begin to doubt the veracity of his idea. Perhaps he had looked too far into his brother's letter. Perhaps his brother was just coming to watch the Tournament like so many others. They were going to meet _after_ the task after all, not before it.

Just as doubt was beginning to set in Ron's mind, and with his fingers slowly turning numb from the cold weather, a flicker of light appeared out of the corner of his eyes. "There!" Ron shouted.

"Where?" Harry called back. "I can't see you."

"Face the moon… I thought I saw something flash briefly."

Harry stared out into the distance, looking for anything that might be out of the ordinary. Other than the treetops and leaves rustling in the wind, and the clouds gently passing overhead, the night was calm.

Until he saw it as well. It looked like a flash of flame, shooting out over the forest's canopy, before dispersing in the air. "Bloody hell," Harry said. "I was half hoping you were wrong."

"Well, let's go check it out, shall we?" Ron replied.

The dragon enclosure was fairly large, but there were no overt spells to hide them. Just the normal muggle repelling charms, but for a temporary structure, it would be difficult to get anything too advanced to stick in such a short time, not for something that would have upwards of a thousand people moving to and from.

There was a stadium partially built, extending out into the clearing like an old gladiatorial arena. From where they sat upon their brooms, about a hundred feet over the clearing, they could just barely make out the tallest tower of Hogwarts in the distance. They had to have been a good five miles away from the castle, and three miles from Hogsmeade. Not exactly close. Harry hoped that they wouldn't be expected to _walk_ that distance.

"Blimey," Ron said in awe. "Look at those things!"

Three dragons sat in cages on the outskirts of the enclosure, each in their own small clearing. There were a dozen handlers watching over them, and in particular, a bright blue and white dragon that was apparently spitting flames just for its own amusement.

Harry flew closer to where his tracking spell was telling him Ron was hovering. Carefully, he hovered right next to him. "Do you recognize what types of dragons those are?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not an expert, but I reckon that black one is a Hungarian Horntail. That's the second most dangerous dragon type in existence."

"What's the most dangerous?" Harry asked with a whisper.

"The Himalayan Hellkite," he replied. "They're red, but luckily I don't see one down there. I think that's a Chinese Fireball - they're distinctive enough. Don't know the blue one though."

"Do you see your brother down there?"

"Hard to tell, but I don't see anyone with our hair. I _do_ see someone familiar though. Look near the Horntail cage. He's got a familiar friend as well..."

It was times like these when Harry wished he had better vision. One of the first things he had looked into when learning he was a wizard was to see if there was a way to fix his eyesight. There was, but the only way to do it was to regrow the eyes, and that could only be done when he had finished growing, otherwise they would quite likely just regrow back the same they were, or maybe even worse.

Even with his bad eyesight, there was no mistaking the giant forms of the two people. Nearly identical in height, Hagrid must have had at least twenty stone on Madame Maxime, who was there with him and observing the dragons.

Harry wasn't truly surprised to see Hagrid there. The first time Harry had ever met the man, he had admitted he wanted nothing more than to own a pet dragon. And he had done so, raising a baby Norwegian Ridgeback, in his small hut, only having to release it to Charlie and his co-workers to bring it to a preserve when it grew too large for his hut.

"You don't think you have to fight one, do you?" Ron asked in a worried voice.

"I hope not," Harry said. "They said they were making the tournament safer, right? It takes a dozen wizards of your brother's caliber just to handle one - there's no way I'd stand a chance if I actually had to fight it."

"So, it's just an obstacle then," Ron decided.

"I reckon so," replied Harry. "I guess we'll have to focus on methods for me to not get maimed and cooked by dragonfire."

"Yeah, we didn't exactly study for this sort of thing." said Ron. "They're several steps beyond anything that's been covered in Creatures or Defense."

"We'll have to go pick Hermione's brain then."

* * *

"It's true then?" Hermione asked with worry. "What Ron believed about his brother's letter?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so," Harry said with a sigh. He plopped down onto the chair while Ron crashed for the night. He couldn't ask his best friend to pull a second all-nighter in a row, so it was Hermione's turn.

Harry was starting to feel the effects of sleep deprivation, but he wasn't all that unused to it. Growing up at the Dursley's hadn't been easy, and with the occasional Voldemort-fueled nightmare, he had had more than one sleepless night. Still, the bags around his eyes and general sluggishness were starting to wear him down, but he wouldn't rest until the first task was done and in the books.

Double-checking to make sure all their anti-eavesdropping measures were in place, Harry leaned forward to tell Hermione what he saw. "Three of them. Huge. A red one, a black one, and a blue one. Ron says there was a Chinese Fireball and a Hungarian Horntail, but he didn't know the blue one. I don't suppose you know anything about dragons?"

Hermione leveled Harry with a glare that said 'Don't you know who I am?'

"Right, right," Harry said. "Sorry. So, I'm assuming you went to the library on a hunch and have a bunch of books on dragons and how to beat them up."

"It's not that simple," Hermione said. "There's no book titled 'Dragonslaying for Dummies'. They are extremely resistant to magic, and only get more so the older they get."

"I know that. I doubt I have to actually kill the thing - that would be crazy."

"And highly illegal," Hermione replied. "The Triwizard Tournament is not exempt from the law, and is policed by the International Regulatory Committee, which oversees dueling as well, regulating the magic they can and can't use…"

"Yeah, I vaguely recall Mr. Crouch mentioning something like that at the first meeting," Harry said noncommittally. "We're not allowed to use any illegal magic either."

"Right, anyways, I do have several books, though the dragon section in the library did seem a bit light on reading… I think one of the other Champions must know about them and checked a few books out."

"Oh, well, I did see Madame Maxime there at the dragon pen," Harry said. "So undoubtedly Fleur Delacour knows. I wouldn't be surprised if Karkaroff told Krum about them as well - the Judges are surely aware of what the tasks are."

"That changes things then -"

"Does it? It's not like Dumbledore has pulled me aside to tell me about them and to how to get passed them."

"Cheating is a time-honored tradition at the Tournament. There's a vast history of corruption and - "

"You don't say," Harry said dryly.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So, how do I actually beat these things?"

"Well, presumably, you only have to beat one. Three dragons, three Champions. So, it's likely guarding an objective of some sort."

"Right, well, I don't suppose we could play it a bit of music and have it fall asleep like Fluffy?"

"If only," Hermione said. "Dragons are known for guarding hoards of treasure, so my guess is that you'll have to find something specific. So, let's pretend that you have to somehow subdue or distract a dragon long enough to recover the Holy Grail or something like that."

"Okay. So, I'm facing down a fifty foot tall fire-breathing monster of death and destruction. I need a way to not die from dragon flame."

"The best way is to not get hit," Hermione.

"So, constant vigilance?" Harry remarked. "Pretend I'm not Mad-eye Moody. How many flame-freezing charms will it take to not be dinner?"

"More than you can count, likely. Dragon's fire is one of the hottest substances known to man. A standard flame-freezing charm will do little against a direct hit, but if you layered them enough, you'd might be able to survive an indirect hit."

"Non-standard flame-freezing charms then? The one we learned in second year can't be the only one, or the most powerful."

"And you'd be right," Hermione said. "But that one is taught because it is the most effective one for how simple it is. There's a flame-suppressing charm, that can be used to put out fires after the fact, but won't do anything against the attack itself. Um, I think there's a thermal charm of some sort, I recall it being employed by blacksmiths in the dark ages… I can look into it."

"Alright," said Harry. "We'll make a list, but we don't have much time."

"I'm going to be honest, Harry. We may bit a bit out of our league here."

"You don't say," Harry said, shaking his head in exasperation.

"What I am saying, is that perhaps you need to get actual help. Not just from a textbook… from someone who actually knows something about these things."

"Why, Hermione, if I didn't know better, I'd almost think you're suggesting that I should cheat."

"Dumbledore won't help you, I know that, but perhaps Hagrid would?"

"Hagrid thinks dragons make for good pets. Like a cat, or a dog. I'm not sure he would be the best fountain of knowledge - remember, first year, he scrounged the library for material on dragons just like we're doing now."

"That's true," Hermione admitted. "Perhaps Sirius then?"

"Maybe…" said Harry.

"It's worth a shot, right?" Hermione continued. "What's the worse that can happen? Plus, it'll only take a couple minutes to write a letter."

"Okay, fine. I'll write him for help, but I still want a Plan A and Plan B. And preferably a Plan C as well."

"Let's keep going over the dragon's physiology then. They're very resistant to spells, but they do have weak spots. The eyes, inside the mouth, around the anus -"

"Hold on one bloody second," Harry said with a laugh. "You expect me to shoot this thing in the arse?"

"Well, no, but it's good to know what you're options are, right?"

"Right. Okay, continue."

"So, I was thinking," Hermione said, drawing it out a bit. "If you can blind it and restrict its sense of smell, you probably can get by it."

"What about its hearing? You think I should play a flute to distract it?"

"McGonagall has taught us some basic animation spells - perhaps a bunch of drums to make a lot of noise."

"I was only joking, you know."

"I'm not," Hermione retorted. "This is serious. I think your best bet is to increase your own mobility with a lightness charm, and then hamper the dragons senses to at least neutralize its effectiveness at killing you, albeit temporarily. As for the specific spells… well, that's going to require more research."

"Well, the night is still young."

"It's early morning, actually," Hermione corrected.

"Whatever."

* * *

Crazy. That's the word Harry used to describe the whole world around him. Having to fight dragons, his godfather telling him to be in the common room at 11 PM so they could talk… He used his Revelation Revealer on the letter three times just to make sure it wasn't actually a prank and that his godfather was actually serious.

Harry didn't know how either of those things were going to happen, not without a bunch of luck. But, both Ron and Hermione were more than willing to help him get it done. Somehow, they managed to get everyone out of the common room with five minutes to spare, and Harry knew better than to ask how they had done it. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. It probably involved Hermione rattling her SPEW collection tin under everyone's noses.

Unsure of exactly how Sirius was going to meet him, Harry prepared for the worst. It seemed unlikely that Sirius would use his animagus form to sneak into the castle, but it wouldn't be the first time.

So, when Sirius's head popped up in the roaring fire in the common room, Harry was genuinely surprised. If he hadn't seen Cedric Diggory's father do the exact same thing several months prior, he might have freaked out completely. "Whoa, hey there Sirius!"

"Hey, Harry, it's good to see you," his godfather replied, giving him a grin.

"Likewise. So, what exactly is your head doing in the fireplace?"

"I'm borrowing this fireplace, but the owner could be back at any second. It's not easy travelling when your face is plastered on wanted posters on every street in the entire nation."

"So, you're actually here then, in England?" Harry asked. He hadn't actually wanted to believe that it was true. "It's too dangerous!"

"Too dangerous?" Sirius laughed. "It's _fun_. But, speaking of dangerous, what is this I've heard about you being a Triwizard Champion and having to face down a dragon? James would be so proud! Especially of your breakup with that girl that was all over the Prophet."

Harry sighed. "One of these days, Rita Skeeter is going to get her comeuppance, I'm sure, but right now I really have to work on how to subdue a dragon, at least temporarily. We're at our wit's end here, looking for solutions, and the best we've come up with is to hamper its senses. Blind it, deafen it, and overcome its sense of smell. However, conjuring a blindfold and somehow putting it over the dragon's eyes seems like an impossible task."

"Right. It's a good plan. If it were the Marauders doing it, James would be the distraction while one of us snuck in. The Conjunctivitis Curse should be powerful enough to blind the dragon. You just have to hit it in the eyes with the spell, and it will cause a temporary blindness. It'll last five, maybe ten minutes. They have very sensitive sense of smell, so that should be easy - dungbombs or something to that effect should be more than ample. They don't have the best of hearing, so I suspect the noise from the crowd will be enough to confuse it."

Harry was furiously scribbling down Sirius's suggestions while Ron and Hermione kept a lookout. "Where can I find the Conjunctivitis Curse?" Harry asked.

"Hm. I think I found it in a Curse Compendium - I forget the exact volume. The library probably still has it. I'd help you learn it, but honestly, a dozen years in Azkaban have made my skills with a wand almost non-existent."

"We'll clear your name one day, Sirius," Harry said. "Well catch Wormtail and then you'll be free."

Sirius shook his head. "He's very good at hiding, especially from me. I've spent almost every waking moment searching for any signs of him, but the trail goes cold in Austria. He'll get what's coming to him, just not right now."

Suddenly, Sirius's head twitched and he jerked around.

"What's wrong?"

"I think someone's coming - Look, something strange is happening, so just keep an ear out, okay? Pettigrew's escape, your strange nightmares, Death Eaters at the World Cup - something doesn't add up. I've got to go now - we'll talk again soon! Just be careful!"

Before Harry could even reply, Sirius was gone. Harry let out a sigh and relaxed backwards on the couch. Ron and Hermione joined him, but not before reeling back their anti-eavesdropping charms.

"He's reckless," Hermione pointed out. "It's almost like he wants to get caught."

"I think he finds it exhilarating. Spending twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit, with only Dementors and actual Death Eater psychopaths to keep him company… It's no wonder he's not insane."

Hermione and Ron both gave him a knowing look.

"Well, not completely insane," said Harry, correcting himself. "He means well. Being on the run can't be easy, not for so long."

"He'll have to settle down eventually," Hermione said. "I'm sure Dumbledore would help, if Sirius asked."

"That would be a treat, wouldn't it," Ron replied. "The most powerful wizard in England, harboring a known fugitive. If Rita Skeeter found out about _that_ …"

"It could be a disaster," Harry agreed. "It still bothers me that I have no idea how she heard my conversation with Lavender."

"Invisibility cloak?" Ron asked. "Seems like a perfect tool for nosy reporter."

"Maybe," Harry replied. "I won't pretend that we had covered all possibilities, all we did was lock the door and put a silencing charm up. But it does beg the question of why Rita Skeeter was even at Hogwarts that day."

"She was fishing for stories, no doubt, and lucked across yours," said Hermione. "It's vile and deplorable, but I'm not sure what kind of recourse there is."

"I'd really rather not have to carry the Marauder's Map on me at all times," Harry commented. "But I will, if that's what it takes to catch her in the act."

"It's not a bad idea," Hermione said. "As long as you don't get caught and have it taken away."

"Yeah, Fred and George would never let you hear the end of it," Ron said with a smirk.

"It might be worth the risk," said Harry. "Catching that woman here after having been banned from the grounds by Dumbledore himself would make quite a story. And she doesn't seem like the type of person who would actually conform with the banning, not if she's sneaking in during normal school hours to find a story to begin with."

"We should focus on the task at hand though," Hermione said. "You've only got a few days."

"I know," Harry replied, stifling a yawn. "It can wait until tomorrow though. I'm absolutely knackered. There's no point in learning all of this stuff if I just fall asleep during the task and get eaten."


	11. Chapter 11

With a loud groan, Harry woke up from a long night of sleep. He had opted for a few extra hours of rest rather than cramming a few more hours of spell work. He hoped that wouldn't come back to bite him, or cause a dragon to bite him.

Even so, he rolled around on his bed, gathering the blankets onto himself, forming a cocoon of warmth. He stayed like that for ten minutes, before deciding it was probably a smart decision to get up and get ready for the day. After all, he _was_ going to battle a dragon.

After he was washed and dressed for the day, Harry made his way down to the common room. Unsurprisingly, it was packed full. There were no classes that day, on account that no one would be able to pay attention with the excitement of the First Task to look forward to.

"Here he is, the Champion!" Fred and/or George announced as soon as Harry stepped foot into the room. Harry laughed at their antics, especially when they slung their arms around his shoulders.

"You seem to be in a happy mood," Harry observed. "Did you get paid back by Bagman?"

"Not yet," Fred said, his grin slowly turning into a grimace.

"But, we have high hopes for today!"

"Oh? What's the line?" Harry asked.

"One-point-eight for Krum to win, two-point-two for Delacour, two-point-four for you."

"Really? That's pretty good for me," Harry observed. Of course, Harry was able to do the math in his head, and realized that there was an extra couple of percent in the odds. It was a bit blatant, but perhaps it accounted for ties and other fringe possibilities. Probably not.

"Don't think we haven't seen how often you and your friends sneak out to go train. I reckon three months of that has given you a fair shot of not coming dead last."

"And what if I were to tell you I knew what the task was today?"

"Then I would tell you that you'd be smart to bet on yourself," George replied with a wink. "We've got a ten Galleon max this time."

"That's a fair bit of coin," observed Harry.

"It takes money to win money, and what's life without a little bit of risk?"

"Yes, those were my thoughts exactly when I realized just exactly what I had gotten myself into."

Harry briefly thought of how funny it would be to bet on Krum instead of himself. It would have been interesting to see how the Weasley twins would interpret that action, as if he wasn't confident in himself.

The other Gryffindors made the rounds, wishing him luck, while some of the other made not-so-discrete wagers with Fred while George recorded them. They were posed to make a killing.

"Say, what kind of odds would you give if I predicted that Krum and I would draw?"

George shook his head. "Too many variables. Are you talking about a draw and winning, or a draw and losing? There's a potential of fifty points each, and if we assume that five is the lowest score a champion can get…"

"Don't forget that Karkaroff and Maxime are more likely to rate their own Champion higher and the others lower, while Dumbledore will likely play it by the books -"

"Right, too many variables. The real odds are likely a hundred to one, but we'd let you bet at ten to one."

"I was just curious," Harry said with a shrug. "It seems like you're going out of the way to make as much money as possible. I'm sort of scared to know how many of your inventions you've had to sell to fund this."

"You're right, you don't want to know," Fred said, smirking.

"But we can tell you that it's not enough," George finished, nodding.

"What are saving up for?"

Fred and George leaned in close so only Harry could hear them. "We want to buy Zonko's out. He's old, and his products are stale and out of date."

"We think we could revitalize the place and rejuvenate the pranking scene."

"That's pretty ambitious," Harry commented, letting out a low whistle. "I suspect your mother wouldn't like it though."

"Our mother doesn't like many things," they replied together.

"She's crazy if she thinks we're going to settle into a Ministry job after we've finished here," George said, shaking his head.

"Not after we've spent so much time developing our product line."

"I'm guessing that sheet your mother found this summer is something big?" Harry asked. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes as I recall."

"You recall correctly," said Fred. "Best to keep it on the downlow though, if you catch my drift."

"Got it," Harry replied. They broke apart, with the the twins looking for their friend Lee Jordan. Harry found Ron and Hermione waiting near the common room entrance. Ron was grinning excitedly, while Hermione was wringing her hands and twitching nervously.

"Come on guys, it's not going to be that bad," Harry said. "It's time for some lunch though. Can't do this on an empty stomach."

"That's a plan I can get behind," Ron agreed wholeheartedly.

The Great Hall was more animated than any other time Harry could ever remember. The Hall was bustling with students, and more were arriving every second. The upcoming Task was all anyone could talk about.

Fred and George were working quickly, and Lee Jordan was playing lookout for them. As they had done previously, one of them was collecting coins and the other was writing receipts.

Somehow, despite all the adults present in the room, they managed to take hundreds of bets without getting caught at all. It was quite a feat, in Harry's opinion.

Harry didn't eat as much as he would have liked. He had too much on his mind, and he had lost his appetite. He was worried about the upcoming task, worried that perhaps the dragons were for the second task and not the first, or perhaps he should have practiced harder and learned more spells. And he was still annoyed at the whole situation with Lavender, even if he really didn't show it outwardly. She didn't want to be a distraction… but it still sort of was.

Doubt clawed his mind, no matter how much he tried to push it back. Students from every house came by to wish him luck, but he barely payed attention to any of them, not even when Cho Chang came by.

Soon enough, it was time. Dumbledore stood up from the staff table to address the hall. "In fifteen minutes time, you will gather outside and await the school carriages, which will take you to the staging ground where the First Task will take place. Champions, if you would please meet me in the side hall now. You will be taking alternate transportation."

Harry stood up and followed the Headmaster into the same side room as the last time. Krum and Delacour followed shortly after. They looked as nervous as he felt, and a bit uncomposed, but it wasn't out of fear of the unknown, but rather of anticipation. They both held themselves with confidence, despite looking slightly pale and clammy.

The other judges were waiting in the room, and as Dumbledore closed the door, Ludo Bagman spoke to them. "You three will each be taking a portkey that will transport you to a tent where you will receive further instructions. The rest of the students will be travelling by carriage and should take about an hour to arrive. This will give the three of you time to think about the strategies you will employ for the task."

Dumbledore fished in his pocket for a second before pulling out a piece of golden rope. "Once you three have arrived, we will follow shortly after," Dumbledore added. "Now, if you would, please place one hand on the rope and I will activate the portkey."

Harry grabbed hold of the golden rope, and Krum and Delacour quickly followed suit. It had been the closest Harry had ever been to either of them, practically bumping elbows, and Harry couldn't help but notice that the French witch smelled remarkably of freshly picked flowers, and perhaps with a slight hint of grapes. Wine, perhaps? It was odd.

Dumbledore quickly dropped the portkey rope and activated it silently. Harry was expecting a chaotic and humbled ride, and was completely surprised when it was smooth as butter, and the three of them arrived without so much as a stumble. Fifteen or so seconds later, Dumbledore and the other judges arrived, looking as if they had merely took one step and suddenly arrived five miles away.

Harry took a second to think about the portkey, and realized that _Dumbledore_ had made it, so _of course_ it would be smooth. He was the most powerful wizard alive, whereas the portkeys for the World Cup numbered in the hundreds and were made quickly by underpaid Ministry workers. It made sense, once he thought about it.

"Mr. Bagman will have the honors of explaining the task to you in a few minutes," Dumbledore said. "The rest of us will be preparing the judging booth and going over last minute preparations."

Crouch and Dumbledore walked off to a side, heading for the temporary stadium that had been built. Karkaroff took a second to share a few words with Krum, in German. It sounded as if he was giving the Quidditch prodigy words of encouragement, but as Harry didn't speak the language, it could have been anything.

Just as Harry noticed the Maxime was doing the same thing with Delacour, Ludo Bagman wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and leaned in.

"You're the underdog here, Harry," Ludo confided to him. "If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know, alright? Once you find out what the task is, I'll step outside for a few minutes and if you want, I can share a few pointers. Only if you ask, though."

"Is that what the other two are doing?" Harry asked, discretely nodding at Karkaroff and Maxime.

"I'm afraid I don't speak a lick of French or German," Ludo said with a smile. "I wouldn't worry about them though - worry about yourself. Alright, into the tent we go now."

Harry walked into the tent, and true to wizarding tradition, the inside was much larger than the outside. It didn't really matter though, since it was mostly empty save a few chairs and a pitcher of water. There was also a burlap sack sitting on the ground.

Ignoring the water and taking a seat, Harry focused on Bagman. The man had all but offered to tell him how to beat the task, and Harry had a hunch that the other two already knew what the task was as well. Delacour and Krum entered and took seats as well, Karkaroff and Maxime having left them to join the other judges.

"Now that we are all here, it's time to tell you what your task for today is!" Bagman exclaimed. "As we wait here, the students are riding down from the school. That will give you just enough time to figure out what you need to do. As for what that is… inside this bag there is a miniature model of what you are about to face. They are numbered in the order that you will be going, and there's different types. Oh, and your task is to collect the golden egg and return here! It contains a clue for the Second Task, which you will need! Simple, eh?"

The three Champions all nodded in understanding, but none of them looked like they wanted to speak at all. Perhaps having foreknowledge of what was to come wasn't such a huge advantage after all. Knowing that they would actually be facing down a dragon…. it was hard to keep a calm facade in the face of that. It was worse knowing that they had all volunteered for this.

"Now then, ladies first," Bagman said. He opened the bag but held it close to his chest, so they couldn't get a peek.

Fleur, with a shaky hand, reached into the bag. When she withdrew it, there was a model of a dragon in her hand, blue and white in color, breathing small wisps of fire and moving its tail. There was a number two written on a tag that was around its neck.

"Ah, the Swedish Shortsnout!" Bagman exclaimed. "A real beauty - and you will be going second!"

Fleur hadn't shown any surprise at it, confirming what Harry had already believed to be true, that Maxine had indeed told her about the dragons. It slightly upset Harry that Hagrid would tell Maxime, who would of course tell Fleur, yet no one had offered to tell him at all, except for Bagman. But what good would Bagman's help be mere minutes before a task, when Harry and his friends had spent dozens of hours doing research?

Bagman offered the bag to Krum next. He pulled out the Chinese Fireball with a one around its neck, and again, Harry noted that Krum did not look surprised by the outcome. Karkaroff had told Krum, that was clear. Harry wasn't surprised that the other schools would play dirty like that. It seemed like it was sort of an open secret, but somehow Harry wasn't in on it.

Except, he sort of was, but he had gotten an inside tip. If Ron hadn't been his friend, and Charlie hadn't been a dragonkeeper, he would have been totally in the dark. It was quite an extraordinary sequence of luck.

"The Chinese Fireball," Bagman said. "A feisty one, that. You'll be going first. That leaves us with Harry."

Harry reached in, and predictably, pulled out the Hungarian Horntail with a three around its neck. Harry let out a sigh, having fully expected that he would be facing down the most dangerous of the three dragons.

"The Hungarian Horntail. Perhaps the most dangerous of the three. You'll be going last, so that will give you extra time to get your nerves ready! Now you all know what you will be facing. Mr. Krum, since you are going first, you will go out when you hear the whistle in about thirty minutes I suggest you take this time to work on your strategy."

Ludo Bagman left, leaving the three of them to brood on their thoughts.

"I'm guessing by your reactions," Harry said, once he was sure Bagman was out of earshot. "That both of you already knew about the dragons."

Krum nodded his head after a few seconds of contemplation, while Fleur spoke up. "Madame Maxime told me three days ago. What about you?"

"Found them when I was flying over the forest," admitted Harry

"Knowing is only half ze battle, non?" Fleur said.

"It doesn't make it any easier," Krum replied. "When Headmaster Karkaroff told me, I thought he was joking."

"I'll freely admit that I did not get much sleep the last week, knowing that there was a dragon waiting for me."

"You should try our French wine," said Fleur. "Soothes ze nerves and helps you sleep."

"Good to know," said Harry. "I guess the only thing we can do now is to give them a good show."

"Putting on a good show is vhat I do best," Viktor replied.

Krum wasn't very talkative after making that statement, instead he focused on mentally preparing himself. Fleur was getting more nervous as each minute passed, tapping her foot on the ground faster and faster.

Eventually, the sound of foot traffic and voices were heard, and the stadium began to fill up with students. Harry mentally went over his plan, but he knew the value of a plan, in that they rarely lasted more than a few minutes in a confrontation. Mad-eye Moody had told him that, and personal experience had confirmed it for him in the past..

Before long, a whistle was sounded. Krum took that as his cue and left the tent, giving each of them a nod in turn. The crowd roared as his name was announced, but once the tent flap closed again, all the sound was muted. Harry could vaguely hear Bagman's amplified voice explaining the task.

"I guess this is it," said Harry.

"So it would seem," Fleur replied. She barely seemed to pay him any mind, instead withdrawing inside herself.

Harry didn't know what else to say, so he opted to try and listen to what was going on. He could tell the general mood of the crowd as it oohed and ahhed and gasped in surprise. After about ten minutes, there was a change of pitch in the din, followed by cheering.

"Sounds like he did okay," Harry said. Fleur was so nervous now that she couldn't even reply, instead, she merely nodded. The whistle sounding a minute later would forestall any more possible conversation.

Fleur got up and left, not even sparing him a glance. Any deviation from her motions would likely have cracked her resolve. As she left, Harry couldn't help but admire her amazing backside. Lavender Brown was attractive, on a level above most of the other girls in their year even, but the French witch truly was something else.

Left by himself, Harry began to fidget. He was mixed between worrying, and just wanting it to be over already. The suspense was killing him… but what came after quite possibly could.

The crowd reacted in much the same way it had for Krum. They didn't really care who was battling, they just wanted to see people fight dragons. If it had been a gladiatorial arena, Harry'd have thought that they wanted blood. They probably did regardless.

Ten or fifteen minutes passed with the crowd going wild, or crying out in surprise. Whatever it was Fleur was doing, she was taking longer than Krum. That meant she was still fighting though, which was worth something. She hadn't just been killed in the first minute like some people might have thought, if they were assuming a pretty face meant she couldn't use a wand.

Harry had heard that comment several times over the last week. No one was really taking Fleur seriously, but Harry knew better than anyone to never underestimate someone. Sure enough, the crowd suddenly roared in immense applause, indicating that Fleur had retrieved her golden egg and completed the task.

That meant it was Harry's turn. He stood up, psyching himself up, just waiting for the whistle to blow. He jumped in place, trying to get the blood flowing and too afraid to stop moving. A minute passed, and then two, and Harry was getting impatient. A third minute passed and finally the whistle blew.

Harry let out a deep breath and walked out of the tent and into the clearing. Harry turned his head to observe the stands, noting just how many people were watching him… cheering for him. Well, except for Draco Malfoy. Harry spotted him sitting in the front row with his arms crossed. Harry smiled.

Then, Harry looked at the dragon. His first impression was just how damn large the thing was. Flying on a broomstick overhead in the dark did not prepare him for the sheer awe-inspiring height of the thing. It had to have been forty feet tall and black as the darkest night. Its back was laced with horns, going all the way down to tail, with the largest one at the very tip being the size of a longsword.

Harry gulped. How the hell were his spells supposed to have any effect against _that?_ It was truly massive. No amount of preparation or foresight could had readied him for the sheer size of the beast.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, from Godric's Hollow, England, HARRY POTTER!"

The crowd went wild at hearing his name, and Harry was numbed by the sound. They were actually cheering for him!

"Fourteen year old Harry Potter will be facing down the fearsome Hungarian Horntail. His goal, like the others, is to collect the golden egg, but it won't be easy. This Horntail is a brooding mother… let's see what young Harry has planned…"

Harry took one step forward and immediately the Hungarian Horntail sprayed fire at him. At a hundred feet away, Harry was too far away to get hit, but he could still feel the intense heat washing over his skin. Getting hit by the flame would surely ruin his day.

Right. He'd have to put his plan into motion. With a quick gesture, Harry had his wand in hand. He _had_ to keep a clear mind. If he ever began to panic, it would be all over.

With a calming breath, Harry began to cast his first spell. Transfiguration had never been his best subject, but he had always been pretty decent at it. Transfiguring large animals had been beyond his level to begin with, but Transfiguration was the sort of subject that you could only get better at with long practice.

The first small cow took a minute to transfigure properly. The sheep took a slightly longer, and the fat hog longer still. The difficulty was getting the small details correct. Their smell, the way they moved, and most importantly, the taste.

The distraction wouldn't fool the dragon for long. They were, after all, just rock. The magic was superficial, but his only goal was to distract the dragon in order to get close enough for an accurate shot at its eyes. At his current range, it would be an impossible shot.

But, before he could do that, he had to lay down the second distraction. Fred and George would be proud of him. Instead of opting to use a summoning charm and a crate of dungbombs, Harry settled for a toxic stench charm. Calling it a charm sounded disingenuous, since there was nothing charming about the smell of baby diapers mixed with rotting shark.

The smell was awful, and within seconds the entire stadium was groaning in disgust. They weren't at ground zero though, not like the dragon, which got a full blast of it. At first, it merely wrinkled its snout, but quickly it was roaring flames, trying to burn the stench away.

It raged for a minute, spouting a draconic inferno in all directions and creating a hellfire the likes of which Harry had never seen before. It could have worked, for all Harry knew, since now all he could smell was ash and brimstone. The heat had been so intense as to make rocks shatter in pieces as water deposits superheated rapidly, sending dangerous jagged shards in all directions. A shield charm was enough to ensure he didn't get reamed by stray bits of mundane rock, but anything more than that, he'd have to hunker down.

As far as distractions though, that had been a good one, even if it hadn't exactly worked as Harry had intended. Next, he sent in the animals, who were all panicking from the sight of the dragon and the hellish flames it had created.. A few quick commands had them plodding towards their demise, ignoring their natural instincts.

Harry staggered their approach, having them weave in between the flames as to not get them all taken out in one go. It wasn't something he had planned, but in the moment, it seemed correct.

There was no time to waste, however, and Harry quickly moved himself in. Liberal use of an extinguishing charm helped him clear a path onwards, and liberally soaking himself using a relentless water charm was keeping him cool, if soaked and cumbersome. The charm was hovering over his head, essentially creating a heavy storm cloud that would pour water over him as he walked. This had the slight side effect of creating a large amount of steam, but there was no avoiding that.

Harry closed within fifty feet of the Hungarian Horntail without being noticed. It was chained to the ground with huge iron links, heavy enough to keep it from being able to fly more than a handful of feet off the ground. It did not seem happy to be restrained.

It wasn't for lack of trying. The transfigured animals were just out of reach, and the fire blasts weren't actually killing them, as they were still mostly stone constructs disguised as the real thing. The problem was the heat of the dragon's breath. Harry could feel the heat slowly unravelling the spells, and before long, the animation charms would fail completely.

That just meant he had to be quick. The dragon was still distracted by them, and the crowd's cheering was so loud that he could barely hear himself think. The pungent smell was almost overpowering as well, a mix of ash and hellfire, so that left only the Dragon's sight. However, affecting the dragon was all the smoke and fire all over the place, making it hard to see anything without bringing tears to the eyes..

Regardless, Harry took aim with his wand. The Conjunctivitis Curse was pretty difficult to cast, but child's play compared to the Patronus Charm. Three up-and-down swishes, followed by an underhand flick. It was a pretty quick cast with enough practice, though not the most intuitive to aim.

The first curse went wide, missing by about three feet, but the second one slammed into the dragon's eye, causing an immediate reaction. It roared, sending flames sixty feet into the air, and it strained against the chains, trying to lift itself off of the ground. It hovered in midair, bound by the heavy chains but beating its wings furiously, and Harry took aim again, this time hitting its left eye.

Completely blinded, it began to thrash. It swept its tail wide, trying to catch the assailant through raw speed, but Harry was just outside the instant death radius. There was a worry that the dragon would accidentally smash the eggs in its rage, so Harry had to speed up.

Harry had always been a quick runner, largely in thanks to his lean frame and having to outrun his fat cousin's gang, but even so, the sprint he put on to grab the golden egg was truly impressive, especially considering how wet his robes were. He would have shucked them off, but they were the last line of defense against the dragon, and he didn't want to chance it.

Grasping the golden egg under one arm, Harry was staggered by how heavy the thing was. It had to have been fifty pounds, maybe more, and Harry quick decision to put a featherweight charm on it seemed to fail, and subsequent attempts at other similar charms all slid right off it as well.

Realizing that he had no choice but to grab it and run as quickly as possible, Harry darted out from beneath the dragon's silhouette, rushing for the exit. He must have made too quick of a motion, or perhaps the dragon's eyesight wasn't as bad as he thought, for he felt the heat of the dragon's breath engulf his backside, causing him to stumble in shock.

Sticking with it, Harry rushed blindly through the billowing steam, only pausing briefly to extinguish a wall of flame which signified the remains of his transfigured animals. The rock below them was still molten, so he quickly had to detour and go around.

Harry made it out of the death zone in one piece, but it had not been without peril. His relentless water charm had failed at some point, leaving him nearly defenseless to the draconic monster.

The roar of the flames was slowly replaced with the roar of the crowd as they chanted his name louder than they had been before. A grin slowly appeared on Harry's face as he realized they were cheering for _him_. He had done it. He had gotten past the dragon without getting his face ripped off.

Making his way to the mediwitch's tent, Harry stopped only briefly to shoot a thumbs up over at Ron and Hermione. The inside of the tent was much quieter than the outside, and the only person there was Madam Pomfrey.

"I'm not surprised to see you here, Mr. Potter," she replied. "But, you're conscious, which is more than you can say last time."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Harry replied, his grin not fading at all. Adrenaline was still coursing through him, even as the dragon handlers entered the arena to subdue the Horntail.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand up and down his body, silently casting various diagnostic spells as she did so. "Other than some lingering injuries, I see nothing new that you should be worried about. You've got minor heat burns, but those should heal naturally. But, if I were you, I'd take some time to properly rest and heal up. You've got several months before the next task."

"I'll take it under consideration," said Harry.

"I'm sure you will," Pomfrey said, rolling her eyes. "Now, go back out there and the judges will give you your scores. And do try and stay out of trouble, won't you?"

Harry grinned even more and made his way back out of the tent to the continued applause. Ron and Hermione were clapping louder than ever, and Fred and George were doling out high-fives to everyone.

"The scores of Harry Potter," Ludo Bagman announced, "who completed the task with a time of twelve minutes and seventeen seconds, are as follows -"

The judges one by one held up their wands and conjured floating numbers out of sparks. Crouch gave an eight, Maxime a seven, Bagman and Dumbledore a nine, and Karkaroff a six.

"With a score of thirty-nine, that puts Harry Potter in first place by two points! Let's give another round of applause for him!"

Harry fist pumped at the news. The students in the stands began filing down into the stadium, and amongst the first was Ron and Hermione. Hermione grabbed him in a bone shattering hug and Ron slapped his back before stepping away when he realized Harry was still soaked with water, sweat, and ash.

"Bloody amazing," Ron commented in awe.

"I really can't believe you had to face down a dragon!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I can't believe the plan worked. Well, sort of. The transfiguration fizzled out after about two seconds of dragon flame."

"It looked like the dragon did most of the work for you, roasting everything in sight and blocking its own vision with all the smoke."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Wasn't so bad on the ground though. How did the others do?"

"Krum was quicker than you, but some of the eggs got smashed so that was quite a few points off. He used the Conjunctivitis Curse as well. Delacour took longer but she put the dragon to sleep with some continuous charm that looked like a cloud. It woke up early though and singed her a bit. Looks like you made it out unscathed though."

"Minor burns," Harry commented with a nod, showing them the back of his hands which were quite shiny, and listening as Hermione spoke a million words a second. "That's to be expected though. It could have been a lot worse."

"You could be dead!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Or, at worse, expelled," Ron added. They both turned to look at him. "What? I thought it was funny."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron but still cracked a smile. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Yeah, me too. Looks like Ron's brothers are happy with the outcome as well."

"Yup. I don't think many people were actually expected you to beat Krum."

"I plan on doing it two more times," Harry said, patting the golden egg in his hands.

"So, that's the clue, huh?"

"Apparently." replied Harry. "There's hinges on it and it opens, but I haven't done it yet. I figure I'll take a few days off before worrying about it."

"That's a good plan," Hermione said approvingly. "You look absolutely knackered."

"I suspect I'll sleep well tonight."

"After the party, of course," Ron said.

"Right, the party. Your brothers will use any excuse for a party."

"Mate, you don't know the half of it."

The other students began to swarm them, wanting to be the first, or in this case, third, to wish him congratulations. Harry took it in good stride, realizing that he had finally done something worth celebrating. Even the older years and some of the Slytherins were congratulating him, and some of the girls were lingering slightly too long around him, and giving him suggestive expressions that left little to interpretation...

Yes, at that moment, it was pretty good to be Harry Potter.


	12. Chapter 12

With a groan, as seemed to be common as of late, Harry woke up bleary-eyed and groggy. The sun was shining brightly through the window, suggesting it was nearly noon. He had been truly knackered, so he wasn't too surprised that he slept for nearly half a day. Even so, it wasn't enough and he nearly went back to sleep.

Sighing, Harry decided that he better get up and face the day. After all, he did just win the first task, and beat a dragon. Though, after thinking about it, the dragon _had_ done most of the work for him, with its unrelenting desire to not be chained to the ground.

It had been almost like a repeat of the previous day, or even the day where his name came out of the Goblet Fire. Except this time, he had wisely avoided the drinks. It wasn't just _some_ of them that had been spiked, it was _all_ of them. Even the first years would be waking up realizing that they had made a terrible mistake in trusting anything the Weasley twins had provided.

But, that was Fred and George. They were truly going all out this year, much to the annoyance of pretty much anyone who had some semblance of morality, such as Hermione.

It was no surprise to Harry, that when he entered the common room, Fred and George were at a table counting out money. It was almost like deja vu.

Upon seeing him enter, Fred jumped up out of the chair. At least, Harry thought it was Fred. He still got them confused sometimes.

"Well, look who it is!" Fred yelled. "Our Champion!"

"Really guys," Harry drawled. "Don't ham it up too much. Good news I take it?"

"Great news," George replied with a wink. "Thanks to you, of course. Oh, and since you're here, you might as well take your winnings!"

"Thanks. And now, you're going to ask me to borrow the Marauder's Map, right?"

"If you don't mind," George said nonchalantly. "And, you can give our brother his winnings as well."

"You're serious, aren't you," Harry said with a sigh. "This really _is_ deja vu."

"Rumor is that dear old Ludo was seen in Hogsmeade last night, settling a bet with goblins."

"We may or may not have confirmed that rumor with our own eyes while getting more drinks for the after-party."

"Right. I had a feeling he bet on me," Harry said. "It would explain why he was so keen on trying to help me with the task."

"Whatever it means, it means he should have the coin to pay off our bet from the World Cup. We would like to collect it before he blows it all."

"Okay, I'll be right back," Harry said. Fred tossed him two decent sized bags of coin, one for him, and one for Ron.

He was back within minutes and Fred and George were still sorting out the prizes and their take. By the looks of things, they had well over a hundred betting slips to go through.

"Here you go," Harry said, flatting the Map on the table. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Their eyes all scanned the map, going over every dot. With all the foreign students mingling as well, it was hard to pick some names out, but one name stood out like a sore thumb. "Rita Skeeter," Harry said, pointing at the Great Hall. "What the heck - Dumbledore barred her from the school."

"Could be an invisibility cloak," George said. "Hiding in plain sight."

"Dumbledore can see through invisibility cloaks," Harry replied. "So can Moody, I reckon, with that eye of his."

"Look, Bagman is in the Great Hall with the other judges. Wait… it looks like he's leaving… we've got to go get him!"

The twins stuffed the remaining unfilled coin bags and betting slips into a larger bag and rushed out of the room, not even bothering to close the portrait door behind them. Even with extensive knowledge of the secret passages and fastest ways to travel, Harry didn't think they'd get to Bagman in time.

Still looking at the map, Harry noticed more odd things. The judges were indeed all in the great hall, yet somehow Dumbledore didn't note Rita's appearance despite her being within feet of him. There was no way Dumbledore would have rescinded his ban either.

The other mystery was Crouch's presence. He was there with Dumbledore. Yet, he was also in Moody's office with Moody. That made no sense, and Harry couldn't think of a good explanation.

He watched the map for a few minutes, noting that Fred and George had actually reached Bagman just as he was leaving, right at the castle's entrance. Rita was practically on top of them. The twins knew she wasn't allowed on the grounds, yet their dots on the map didn't react as if she was there. Strange.

Harry resolved to end this once and for all. Dumbledore was going up to his office, so that's where Harry went. Clearing the Map, he stuffed it into his pocket and headed towards the Headmaster's office. There were no good shortcuts there, so it ended up taking nearly ten minutes. Hogwarts wasn't exactly a small castle.

There was a small problem, in that he didn't know the password. The one from last year didn't work. But, on a hunch, Harry once again pulled out the Marauder's Map and activated it. His eyes scanned the dots real quick, noting that Fred and George were still with Bagman, and Rita was right there as well. Dumbledore was in his office, and Crouch was still in Moody's office with Moody. The second Crouch dot was no longer on the map, and neither were Maxime and Karkaroff.

He tapped his own location on the map with his wand, and a word suddenly appeared next to his name. "Chocolate Frog," Harry said out loud, and to his surprise, the gargoyle statue moved to the side, allowing him access. Quickly, Harry deactivated the Map and hid it, and entered the spiral staircase that led him up to the office.

Harry barely even knocked before Dumbledore's voice beckoned him to enter.

"Hello Professor," Harry said, walking into the room. He'd only been there a few times, but he was always amazed at how much stuff was there. One wall was covered completely in portraits of old headmasters, while another held hundreds of books and trinkets.

Dumbledore himself was sitting at his desk, with a large stone bowl in front of him. There was a silvery substance glistening in it, and Harry had a feeling that it wasn't a potion.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore greeted in return. "Congratulations are in order. Your performance against the Hungarian Horntail was exemplary."

"Thank you, Professor," replied Harry.

"But that's not why you are here, is it?" Dumbledore said, looking down through his half-moon glasses. "Please, have a seat."

Harry sat down and started to fidget.

"Lemon drop?" Dumbledore asked, holding out a small bowl filled with candy.

"No thanks," Harry replied.

"Suit yourself," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eyes. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Um, well, I think there's a problem," Harry said. "But… I don't want to get in trouble."

"I see. Well, I can't promise you anything without knowing the details," said Dumbledore, gently. "So, why don't you start from the beginning?"

"Rita Skeeter is in the school right now," Harry replied. "In fact, she was there in the Great Hall when you were talking with the other judges."

"I see," Dumbledore said. A pensive look came across his face as he considered the possibility. "Are you positive?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied firmly.

"I admit, I am not infallible, but I have set up means in which to detect if she's on the school grounds, and nothing was out of the ordinary."

"I'm not sure how she's doing it, but I know she was there. Last I checked, she was spying on Ludo Bagman as I was coming up your stairs."

Frowning, Dumbledore said, "May I ask how you know this?"

"This is the part where I don't want to get in trouble," Harry admitted. He pulled the Marauder's Map out of his pocket and set it on the Headmaster's desk.

"What am I looking at?" Dumbledore said, still frowning and looking at the blank parchment.

Harry tapped the Map with his wand and said, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

A look of amazement came across Dumbledore's face as he watched the lines etch themselves across the parchment. "This is marvelous," Dumbledore said. "Ingenious. Where did you get this?"

"It was my father's," Harry admitted. "He and his friends made it. So you see why I hesitate to share it…"

"I understand," Dumbledore said. "This is incredible spellwork. It must have taken them months to figure out how to make this… no wonder their grades seemed to be lacking despite their obvious talent. A talent which the Weasley Twins seem to be doing their best to emulate."

"Speaking of the twins, they're over there," Harry said, pointing at a part of the Map. "Rita Skeeter is right on top of them, has been for like ten minutes. The twins know she's not allowed here."

"I see," Dumbledore said, pulling the Map closer to himself to get a better look. "How reliable is this Map?"

"It never lies," Harry said. "Peter Pettigrew's name appeared on it last year when everyone thought he was dead. That's how Professor Lupin figured out Sirius was innocent."

"Intriguing," Dumbledore replied, stroking his beard. "Yet it doesn't answer _how_ she is here."

Dumbledore stood up from his chair and strode over to one of the wall shelves. There were a bunch of silver spindly objects, all very similar looking, but clearly each one had a different purpose. Dumbledore took a few seconds to find the one he was looking for, pulling it off the shelf and placing it on his desk.

"This device is tied to Rita Skeeter's presence," Dumbledore said. "I attuned it to her after she left the school two weeks ago. It's barely reacting at all."

"Is it possible that it's broken?" Harry asked. "Or maybe she tampered with it when you weren't here."

"It's certainly possible," Dumbledore said diplomatically.

"But you don't think it's probable," Harry said with a sigh. "Could there be another explanation?"

"I am open to suggestions," the elderly headmaster replied patiently.

"What if… what if she was somehow masking her presence. Like Sirius did last year - the dementors couldn't find him at all, and you never knew he was here until it was too late. Yet, he still showed up on the map."

"Hm, could it be so simple?" Dumbledore questioned. He pulled off his half-moon glasses and wiped them on the sleeve of his robe before replacing them back on his face

Harry was following Dumbledore's line of thought. "What if she's doing it the _exact_ same way that Sirius did? What if she's an animagus? I know for a fact that the map shows them. And that would explain how she managed to eavesdrop on me and Lavender, and how she's able to not be noticed. Her form must be something small..."

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You are more like your mother than you know," he said with a smile. "I do believe there is credence to your idea. She too, has overheard conversations of mine that have occurred in this room. I had thought, perhaps, that she was having a portrait or a ghost eavesdrop on me - it wouldn't be the first time, and I admit I do use them that way myself, on occasion…"

"What do we do?" asked Harry, not wanting Dumbledore to get sidetracked on a tangent.

"Do you know what the punishment is for being an illegal animagus?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, I don't."

'Six months in Azkaban. At a minimum. Adding subterfuge and invasion of privacy… she could be looking at a lengthy sentence."

"What are you saying?"

"It weighs heavily on my conscious to send someone there, even someone as deplorable as Rita Skeeter. I detest the Dementors. I'm suggesting that we take a diplomatic approach."

"Ah," Harry said. "Are you saying… you want to blackmail her?"

"No, no," Dumbledore said. "Nothing so strong as that. I'm suggesting we divert her attention and resources elsewhere. Becoming an animagus is no easy feat, and as you see, being one allows you a lot of opportunities that you wouldn't normally have."

"So you want to employ her talents against whom, exactly?"

"We'll need to get confirmation of her abilities first. However, do you know what this is, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, indicating the stone basin on his desk.

"I've never seen anything like it," Harry admitted. He leaned forward to get a closer look, noting that the basin looked extremely worn and old, yet he could see runic symbols clearly etched into the surface.

"I would be surprised if you had," said Dumbledore. "They're extremely rare and hard to make. It's called a pensieve. With it, you can view memories."

"View… memories?"

"Yes. As old as I am, I've often found my mind getting cluttered with them. So, I'll extract them when they're fresh and store them in a vial. Then, I can peruse them on my own time, and perhaps see details I hadn't noticed the first time, or remember something that I had forgotten. Very useful, if you ask me."

"Really? Any memory?" Harry asked in surprise. "Can I see your memory of Krum's and Delacour's task?"

"Perhaps at some other time," Dumbledore chuckled "It is against the rules for the judges to help a Champion, after all. But, perhaps I might accidently leave it sitting around…"

"I see," Harry said, suppressing a small smile.

"Anyways, ever since the end of your third year, you may have noticed some strange events occurring. I too, have noticed them, as have others... But, I have more resources and knowledge available, if I may say so."

"You're talking about Pettigrew's escape at the end of my third year. And the Death Eater attack at the World Cup."

"Amongst other things, yes. You know, as I know, that Voldemort is not dead. Nor is he alive. He exists in an inbetween state that I truly do not understand. There have unsettling rumors in Albania for years… animals acting strangely, people disappearing… this last summer a Ministry worker disappeared on a visit there…"

"You beleive they are related?"

"Indeed. And, I believe that's where Peter Pettigrew escaped to. He'd have heard the rumors like I have, and he'd deduce that that is where his master's shattered spirit has taken up refuge - that is where Professor Quirrell was when Voldemort possessed him. It would make sense that he would return there."

"So, what does this have to do with the pensieve?" Harry asked,

"I've been going over my memories of the Death Eater trials, seeing if there is something or someone we missed. Peter Pettigrew cannot be acting alone - he was never an overly-gifted student. I am trying to figure out whom he could turn to for help."

"And?"

"There is something I am missing," Dumbledore said again. "Some piece of the puzzle that connects Pettigrew to the incident at the World Cup."

"I will help in anyway I can," Harry said instantly.

"Ah. I do not wish to place this burden upon you, Harry. I am merely an old man rambling on, and you have other things to worry about, such as the next task."

Harry nodded his head and went to go grab the Marauder's Map off the desk, but he paused. "Sir, there is one other thing that has been bugging me."

"Please, go on," Dumbledore beckoned.

"It's about this Map. Every time I've looked, Mr. Crouch has always been in Moody's office. But, today, there was two Crouches on the map, one in the office and one talking to you. The Map never lies, but I don't know how _that_ is possible."

"That _is_ strange," Dumbledore said contemplatively.

"I was thinking about a time-turner… that would explain why Crouch looks so haggard… but he's _always_ there. Him and Moody, all night long sometimes, and still there in the morning. I had thought that perhaps they were bedfellows…George had suggested that..."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I would think not. The two men loathe each other."

"Really?"

"They share a mutual respect and hatred over anything to do with the Dark Arts, but beyond that, they can barely stand to be in each other's presence."

"That doesn't explain the Map though. Look, they are still there right now."

Dumbledore pushed his half-moon glasses farther up his nose and pulled the Map towards him to get a better look. "This is odd. I personally watched Mr. Crouch leave through the front door."

"I watched that on the Map too," Harry said. "That's how I knew you were here. But that other dot has been there the whole time, moving back and forth in the office like he's pacing."

"Well, there is one way to settle this," Dumbledore replied. He looked up at the clock on the wall before coming to a decision. "He should be home by now - I'll simply ask him to floo here."

Dumbledore walked over to his fireplace and quietly lit it. There was a bag of floo powder sitting on the mantle in which he grabbed a small amount of tossed into the flames. They flashed green.

"This will only take a moment," Dumbledore said. He bent down and stuck his head into the flames. If Harry hadn't seen something similar happen before, he'd have thought the old headmaster had finally fallen off his rocker.

Dumbledore's head was only in the fireplace for about a minute before he pulled back. "We are in luck. Mr. Crouch is at home, and he will be coming through in a few seconds."

Sure enough, the impeccably dressed man stepped out of the fireplace and into the headmaster's office. "Now, tell me what this is all about," Crouch said promptly.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Dumbledore said. "There's something strange happening, and I was wondering if you could offer any insight. Harry, if you would?"

Harry showed Mr. Crouch the map. "Here we are, in Dumbledore's office. All three of us. See, there's your name. But, look down in the DADA office, Mad-eye Moody's office, and your name appears there as well."

"That is not possible," Crouch said instantly, his eyes widening comically. "This… map… must be wrong! What kind of magic is this?"

"The Map is _never_ wrong," Harry said. "Not ever. My father made it."

"There must be an explanation for this," Dumbledore said calmly. He steepled his hands and gave Crouch a piercing stare.

"I'm not sure what you're accusing me of," Crouch said, scoffing at the mere idea.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Dumbledore said. "I'm merely wondering how you could exist in two places at once. You do not appear to have a time-turner on your body."

"Mr. Crouch, sir." said Harry. "How many Bartemius Crouches are there?"

Mr. Crouch's lip _curled._ It looked utterly alien on the man's face. "I will not talk about _that_!"

Dumbledore answered for him. "He had a son with the same name. He was tried and convicted as a Death Eater - in fact, his was amongst the trials I had been watching in my memories not so long ago. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban, where he died. Mr. Crouch's wife died shortly thereafter."

"Don't think any less of me," Mr. Crouch said, turning his back to the two of them and facing the fire. "My wife was very ill… seeing our only son like that broke her heart. She pleaded with me that there had to have been some sort of mistake… that our son couldn't be a Death Eater…. my son begged and begged, but I sentenced him to a fate worse than death. I sentenced my own son to rot with the Dementors!"

"I know, Barty, I was there." Dumbledore said. He placed a comforting hand on Crouch's shoulder.

"I'm not finished!" Mr. Crouch suddenly yelled. "It was on his arm, the Dark Mark. Only the most loyal of Death Eaters get it, and my son had one. It's not public knowledge, but you can only get one by performing a task for You-know-who personally… for murder… or worse..."

"I know," Dumbledore repeated, this time softly.

"My son still had one - it was faded, but still there. It's a modified Protean Charm…. If You-know-who had truly been killed, it would have be gone altogether, but it was still there…"

"I know," Dumbledore said once more. Harry stayed silent.

"I had thought to use it against _him_ ," Crouch said, muttering softly. "For when _he_ eventually returned. If I kept my son safe and close by… we'd be able to find that monster and put him down for good."

"What did you do, Barty?" Dumbledore said. He took his hand off of Crouch's shoulder.

"It was my wife's idea," Crouch said with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "She was already dying. An incurable wasting disease… it fed on her magic. Within a few months, I would have no family left. She begged me to save our son… We used Polyjuice Potion. My wife took my son's appearance and lived out the rest of her days in his cell. She died, and was buried on Azkaban. My son took my wife's appearance, and came home with me. I… I had to keep him from escaping... I did it for the greater good - I used the Imperius Curse. For years, I kept him under control, justifying that I did it for my wife. My house elf cared for him while I worked… I always kept him under an invisibility cloak. Recently, he began to fight the curse. Once, he even broke completely free and escaped the house, but I managed to find him again after some time."

"But not this time?" Harry spoke up. "This time he escaped and is sitting in Moody's office, doing who knows what to him for weeks on end."

"It started before the World Cup," Crouch said, turning to face the other two. "My house elf thought Barty would like to watch the game. He always did like Quidditch... I allowed it, so they used my seat up in the top box. It was my son who stole your wand, Mr. Potter. And it was my son who set off the Dark Mark. Whatever he's doing to Mad-eye, it can't be good."

"We have to go stop him," Harry said.

Crouch turned around to face Dumbledore, his face tight with restrained emotion. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. But please, Albus, if anyone finds out about this, I'll be ruined for good. I've done so much good for this country… so much… I could have been Minister! Should have! But, I will keep doing what needs to be done, if you allow me."

"I can't promise you anything without knowing the details," Dumbledore said once more. "We will need to find out what your son is up to, and there is no time like the present. Are you composed enough?"

"I still remember my Auror training," Crouch replied with a solemn nod. He loosened up his tie and undid the buttons on his cuffs. He looked determined.

"Harry, as it is you who discovered the situation, I am sure you wish to see it through to its conclusion. So, I will invite you to come observe, but under no circumstances are you to get involved. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well then," Dumbledore said amicably. "Off we go."

Harry had never been so excited in his entire life. He was going to see _Dumbledore_ in action. He was almost giddy with glee at the prospect and it took a lot of willpower to not skip through the halls as they travelled towards Moody's office.

"Stunner only," Dumbledore said as they arrived. The headmaster didn't wait for confirmation before he blasted the door open with a massive gust of wind. Not waiting a second, Dumbledore fired several blind stunners into the office with Crouch covering the corners.

It had all happened quickly and there really hadn't been much to see, to Harry's disappointment. But Dumbledore was _fast_ , incanting spells at a speed Harry had never seen before.

"Only Moody is in here," Dumbledore observed. He cast several spells on the room, just to make sure no one else was hiding. "What does the Map say, Harry?"

"That there are five of us in here now," Harry replied. He moved over to Moody's stunned form. For someone who preached Constant Vigilance and had a magical all-seeing eye, he had gotten blindsided pretty easily. "But, it is saying that this dot right here isn't Moody at all - it's Crouch. Moody's dot is over there in the corner."

Dumbledore fired several spells off into the corner, but nothing happened. Then, he reached down to the stunned person and reached for the hip flask. Taking the cap off, he brought it up to his nose and sniffed. "It seems this isn't Alastor after all."

"Polyjuice?" Crouch asked.

"So it would seem. That must mean…." Dumbledore said, trailing off. He pulled a keyring off of the fake Moody's body and approached the trunk that was in the corner. There were seven locks in total, and one by one Dumbledore went through them all, before finding what that caused the trunk to open into a pit.

Leaning over the edge, Dumbledore peered down. "There's a room down there -the real Alastor is in there. He's bound up, but still alive."

With a wave of his wand, the headmaster levitated the real Mad-eye Moody, minus his mad eye, up into the room. Crouch took the initiative to close the door to the office and lock it.

The real Mad-eye Moody had seen better days. His eye socket was empty, and his leg was a stump, both devices having been taken for use by the imposter. Half his hair was sheared off as well, for use in the Polyjuice Potion. Plus, he stank.

"Draught of Living Death, if I were to hazard a guess," said Dumbledore, contemplating the scene. "He's in no immediate danger, but he will need medical help. I will need Madam Pomfrey and Severus Snape here. And Minerva as well, while we're at it."

"Do what you must do," Crouch said. "If I had known that my son was impostering Mad-eye… How long do you think this was going on?"

"Too long, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said with a sigh. He took a minute to cast a few Patronus Charms, sending them off into various parts of the castle, carrying messages for his colleague. Harry mentally added that trick onto the list of things he needed to learn.

"It must have happened on the first day of school," Harry said. "When he thought someone was robbing his house. I remember him bursting into the Great Hall during that storm, right as you were announcing the Triwizard Tournament."

"I do believe you are right, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Alastor has always been paranoid, truly so, so I did not see anything amiss."

"What I don't get is why? What is the point?" Harry asked.

"He's the one who suggested to not put the age line on the Tournament," Crouch said.

"Age-line?" Harry asked.

"The original idea was to put an age restriction on the tournament," Dumbledore said. "Alastor, or rather, the person pretending to be him, suggested that the best of the best will get chosen, regardless of age. His reasoning was sound, so we agreed. And then your name came out of the Goblet."

"And then my name came out of the Goblet," Harry repeated. "That has to be a coincidence, right?"

"For that answer, we will have to wait for Professor Snape to arrive with his Veritaserum. Perhaps he knew full well that your name would come out, given who you are, or perhaps he manipulated the results somehow..."

"If this is about getting me killed, why not just poison me? Heck, he spent however many hours teaching us about the Unforgivables. I'm loathe to admit it, but I'm not the most vigilant person - it wouldn't be that hard."

"I agree," Dumbledore replied. "There is a reason he didn't kill you. I would like to know that reason myself, if that's the goal at all."

There was a knock on the door, and Dumbledore opened it, revealing the sour looking face of the Potions professor. Snape took one step in, looked at Harry, looked at Crouch, looked at Dumbledore, and then looked at the two Moody's.

"This looks like an interesting story," Snape drawled.

"So it would seem," Dumbledore agreed. "Come in and close the door."

Snape closed the door behind him and looked around once more, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. In response to his unasked query, Dumbledore held up the half-full flask of Polyjuice to Snape.

Taking one sniff of the potion and recognizing it instantly, Snape turned to look at the man on the ground. "I guess that answers who's been stealing from my ingredient stores. How much longer does he have?"

"Not long, by my reckoning," said Dumbledore.

"And who, exactly, are we expecting this to be?"

"Someone that everyone believed to be dead," Dumbledore replied cryptically.

Before Snape could reply, there was another knock on the door. Dumbledore let McGonagall in, and she took one look around the room, at Harry and Crouch, then at the two Moody's before turning on Dumbledore. "What is this, Albus?"

"That's a good question indeed," Dumbledore replied. "It appears that an imposter has been under our nose for the last few months, impersonating our dear friend Alastor. Polyjuice Potion, if you were curious. Months and months of Polyjuice Potion."

"To what end?"

"That's what we're going to find out," Dumbledore said. "Severus, do you have the Veritaserum?"

Snape didn't say anything, instead he just reached into his robes and pulled out a tiny glass vial. At Harry's questioning look, Dumbledore answered his silent inquiry.

"A powerful truth serum."

"So powerful that it is not admissible in criminal hearings," Crouch added.

"It's highly poisonous," Dumbledore continued. "Three drops would have even the most resistant person spilling their innermost secrets. Professor Snape is one of the few people qualified to brew it."

"It is taught in my NEWT level course, so it is unlikely that Potter will have to worry himself with it."

"Really, Severus, now is not the time for bickering," McGonagall scolded.

At that moment, the Polyjuice began to wear off. Harry personally knew what it felt like to drink the potion, but to actually watch what it looked like… it was disturbing. And to think the man was drinking that stuff like clockwork for _months_ … that took some dedication that Harry could barely even comprehend.

The fake Moody's skin bubbled and rippled for a minute, and the body began to distort. First, the magical eye popped out as the real one grew back, and then the buckle of the wooden leg unsnapped as the real leg emerged from the stump. It was quite nauseating to watch.

Two or three minutes later, the reverse transformation finished. Snape stood there in shock, while Mr. Crouch looked livid. Dumbledore himself looked contemplative, but McGonagall was the first one to speak. "Bartemius Crouch… Junior?"

"The one and the same, Minerva," Dumbledore said gravely. "His death was faked."

"But why…. why would he impersonate Alastor?"

"That is the question of the night, and we'll find out the answer shortly. Severus, if you would, please."

Snape composed himself and forcibly opened Barty Jr's jaw and dripped a few drops of Veritaserum into his mouth. Harry didn't count how many it was, but he had a suspicion that it was more than three.

"I am going to revive him now," Dumbledore said. "Everyone, be at the ready."

Barty Jr's eyes snapped open, and panic quickly set in as he observed the room. All wands were pointed at him, and the truth serum was working through his mind, and conflicting emotions crossed over his face as he tried to resist.

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked.

The imposter's eyes rolled up into the back of his head, showing nothing but white. He was trying to resist, but it was for nought. "Bartemius Caspar Crouch, Junior," He replied in a monotone voice.

"What was your purpose for impersonating Alastor Moody?'

Again there was resistance, but only for a second. "To ensure that Harry Potter wins the Triwizard Tournament."

"Who gave you this command?"

Barty Jr started started to giggle uncontrollably, but he still answered. "The Dark Lord!" he all but shouted. "I do the Dark Lord's work! He will return with my help!"

Spasms came over the Dark Lord's servant, and he began to froth out of the mouth. "He's going into shock," McGonagall said with worry. "You have to give him the antidote!"

"How do you plan on resurrecting Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked quickly. "Answer me!"

"A grand sacrifice!" Barty said in between spasms. "With Harry Potter as the guest!"

"The antidote, Severus, quickly!" Dumbledore commanded. Snape quickly reached into his pockets and pulled out another vial. Barty was thrashing so hard that Snape had to forcefully hold him still to pour the antidote down his throat.

The spasming didn't stop. If anything, it got worse. "This is not a normal reaction," Snape said, holding the man down. "I think he's poisoned with something else! I don't have a bezoar!"

Dumbledore quickly scanned the room, looking for any sort of antidote, but Harry could only watch in horror as the spasming slowly stopped, and the body began to turn purple and bloat. It happened in less than fifteen seconds.

"He's dead," Snape said quietly.

"Suicide," Dumbledore commented. "Must have been poison, hiding in a tooth."

Snape forcefully opened up the man's jaw and looked around inside the mouth. "Manticore venom, if I had to guess. Did it as soon as he realized he was compromised."

Dumbledore turned to look at Mr. Crouch, the ashen-faced Professor McGonagall, and the dumbstruck Harry. "Well, Barty, I think you got your wish after all. You kept your son alive so that he would lead you to Voldemort, and it looks like that is exactly what's going to happen."


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn't every day that you got to watch a man die. Watching the life slowly disappear from Barty Crouch Jr's eye was something Harry wouldn't soon forget. The vileness of it all…. the man had kept a retired auror in the man's own magical trunk for months, using his hair to impersonate him…to eventually kidnap Harry and use him in some sort of grand sacrifice.

Harry didn't get it. Not one bit. Why go through the whole charade? It would have been easy enough to snatch him on the Hogwarts Express, or at any time after class, or even during. If Barty Jr's whole goal had been to kidnap him, and ultimately resurrect Voldemort - certainly keeping up appearances wasn't that important.

Voldemort didn't strike Harry as the patient sort. After being disembodied for thirteen years, Harry figured that he'd jump on any opportunity to get his body back as quickly as possible, regardless of the cost.

It was apparent that Harry's thought process was completely backwards, but Harry couldn't figure out why. Barty Crouch Jr _had_ gone for subtlety, playing a long con. It was a brilliant plan, but he hadn't accounted for a magical map that could see through disguises. Even Dumbledore had been fooled.

Too many questions were on Harry's mind. In addition to the situation with the fake Moody, there was his clue for the Second Task. During the post-tournament celebration, he had been asked by the entire Gryffindor common room, to show them the golden egg. So he had.

And it went terribly.

The bloody thing had hinges on one side, indicating it opened. So that's why Harry did, and he immediately regretted it. A noise like a thousand wailing banshees had filled the common room, causing everyone to shriek in pain and clasp their hands to their ears. Harry had immediately shut the thing, and no one talked about the golden egg after that.

Harry didn't even know where to begin with figuring _that_ out . A golden egg that made a truly obnoxious screeching sound… It would take a lot of work to figure out what that meant, but he had time. He would rest for a couple days, maybe a week, before starting on it.

In the meantime, he had lunch to go to. Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in the common room, but as soon as he stepped off the bottom step, the Weasley twins ambushed him, each slinging an arm over his shoulders. It was an all-too familiar situation.

"Harry, my dear boy," Fred said with a massive grin.

"We owe you so much," George said with an equally massive grin.

"I take it everything went well?" Harry asked. He made eye contact with Ron who merely shrugged. Hermione huffed and looked away.

"Splendid!"

"Magnificent!"

"Marvelous!"

"I get it," Harry said, interrupting them. "I don't suppose we could do this on the way to breakfast? I'm starving."

"No problem at all!" George said, steering him through the common room door. Ron and Hermione followed behind them, and they soon made their way to the Great Hall.

"So, Bagman paid you back?" Harry guessed.

"Sure did," Fred said.

"And with interest," George added.

"That very good news then," Harry said. "I don't suppose you happened to have seen Rita Skeeter when you were talking with him, did you?"

"No, why? Was she there?"

"Yeah. Practically right on top of you guys why you talked with Bagman. For at least ten minutes."

The grins faded from both of the twin's faces. "If she writes about it in the Prophet…."

"How the heck is she doing it?" Fred pondered.

"I don't think you have to worry, on both accounts," Harry said. "Dumbledore and I think she's an animagus, and an unregistered one at that. Dumbledore's going to do something about that, but we go distracted by the second issue with the Map."

"The Crouch thing?" George asked.

"Yeah. I'm not sure how much I am allowed to say - likely nothing, but that situation has also been resolved."

"Oooh, secrets?" Fred said excitedly.

"We like secrets," George said with a nod.

"You can trust us," they both said.

"I will eventually, but the middle of the hallway on the way to breakfast isn't the ideal place." The twins both nodded their heads and then split up from Harry, going their own way. With just Ron and Hermione to accompany him the rest of the way to the Great Hall, Harry already felt like he was being stretched in a thousand directions. There was too much going on.

Ron set about destroying his waffles and French toast as quickly as possible. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought that Ron was trying to beat his previous record. Hermione could only watch on in disgust.

"So, uh, what classes do we have today?" Harry asked. With the Triwizard Tournament going on, he hadn't really bothered memorizing the specifics.

"Herbology and Charms this morning," Hermione said. "History and Divination in the afternoon. Astronomy after lunch."

"You didn't even look at your schedule," Harry said. "And you don't take Divination."

"Yes, well," Hermione said. "One of us has to be the responsible one, right?"

Harry merely grinned in response. Then, to his surprise, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Turning around, half expecting to see the Weasley twins again, he was shocked when he saw that it was Viktor Krum. Harry noticed that Ron's eyes were as round as saucers, and his mouth was slightly agape. It was the same exact reaction that he had around Fleur Delacour, much to his amusement.

"Hello Viktor," Harry said with a small nod.

"Harry," he replied with a cordial grunt. By now, everyone had noticed that the international Quidditch star was speaking with the Boy-Who-Lived, and was watching closely. "Fleur and I are meeting up in Hogsmeade for lunch. Ve vant you to come. Just us Champions."

"Okay," Harry replied simply. That seemed to satisfy Viktor, who merely nodded and left just as silently as he had arrived.

"Ron, you're drooling," Hermione said with a scowl.

Ron blinked twice and seemed to remember where he was. "Blimey, that was Krum! You're going to have drinks with Krum!"

"He's just a quidditch player," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. They've had this conversation before.

"Just a quidditch player?" Ron all but shouted. " _Just a quidditch player?"_

"Relax, both of you," Harry said with a sigh. "It's just a friendly lunch between Champions, nothing more. Certainly nothing to get worked up over."

"But it's Krum!"

"You've had lunch with me what, like a thousand times over three and a half years?" Harry asked. "People aren't exactly lining up and down the hallways asking you what it's like to eat with the Boy-Who-Lived, are they?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Ron said. "Perhaps you should challenge him to a seeker duel. That's far more interesting than lunch."

Harry laughed. "I don't think getting annihilated by Krum would be all that interesting, to be honest. It would be more of a publicity stunt than anything. Still, I'll shoot the idea by him."

"You'd do that for me?"

"I can't make any promises," Harry said. "But, I will get his autograph for you."

"Git," Ron said, punching him lightly in the shoulder.

* * *

Strictly speaking, students weren't allowed to visit Hogsmeade during the week, or really any time that wasn't the designated Hogsmeade weekends, which occurred around once a month. But technically, any student over the age of seventeen could visit whenever they wanted, as they were legally adults.

Harry wasn't an adult, seeing as he was fourteen. Nor was it a Hogsmeade weekend. But that had never stopped Fred or George, nor had it stopped his father or his father's friends. And it wasn't going to stop him, either.

There was some risk involved, Harry knew. Having just uncovered some sort of secret Death Eater plot at the school, Harry knew that all too well. So going down to Hogsmeade during the middle of the day by himself wasn't the smartest thing he had ever done. He would not have the protection of the castle, but personal history had shown him that the castle wasn't half as safe as other people thought.

Hogsmeade was a bigger town than most would think, but most of the popular stores were all on the same road. The run-of-the-mill grocer's, for example, was located elsewhere in the town, since it wasn't a place that Hogwarts students would need to visit and it served the residents of Hogsmeade itself.

Harry was briefly worried about _where_ exactly they'd be having lunch. Krum hadn't specified a place, and Harry didn't think the foreign students would know the town that well at all to know all the options.

But, as he thought about it, Harry realized that the only place an international _Quidditch_ star would go to for lunch was a place named the _Three Broomsticks_. It was obvious, and he was correct. Of course, when the other options were the dingy Hog's Head pub, and the romantic Madam Puddifoot's, it was really the only choice.

The Three Broomsticks wasn't that crowded, but then again, it was lunch time on a Thursday with Hogwarts still in session. The proprietor, Madam Rosmerta, was wiping down the bar while a pink-haired lady brooded over a drink. She looked up once Harry entered, but quickly went back to her drink while Harry walked back to one of two occupied tables.

"Hey Viktor. Fleur," Harry said as he took a spot at the circular table.

"I'm glad you came," Viktor said. Harry detected the almost-presence of a smile, which in of itself, was a rarity.

"I'm glad as well," Fleur agreed. She smiled and Harry had a hard time not being dazzled by the radiance of it. Her teeth were too white, and too perfect - the exact opposite of most Englishmen's teeth.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Harry said. "Though, strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to be here. That may be why Madam Rosmerta is giving me the evil eye."

"It is easy to forget that you are younger than us," Viktor admitted. "You did thrash us soundly in the first task."

"I had good preparation," Harry said. "Though when I signed up, I hadn't expected dragons. I may have reconsidered if I had known that."

"Me too," Fleur agreed. "'ave you looked at ze egg yet?"

"I opened it in the middle of our celebration. Deafened about a hundred people with the noise it made."

Viktor chuckled. "I opened it at three in the morning vhen everyone vas sleeping. They vere quite upset at being voken up by it."

"Same," Fleur said. "My friend Charlotte yelled at me for an hour. She still won't talk to me."

They made some brief small talk for a few minutes before Madam Rosmerta came over to take their orders. She rattled off a couple of different lunch specials, before Harry settled on a BLT and butterbeer, Fleur got a chicken salad with a tea, and Viktor got a truly massive burger. At least none of them went for the truly cliche fish-n-chips, though Harry knew it to be delicious.

"You know, my friend told me to tell you that we should do a seeker duel. Naturally, I told him that you'd crush me in the worst possible way,"

"I haf heard that you play Quidditch," Viktor said, contemplating the idea. "Even in Bulgaria, you are vell known. I did not know you vere a seeker though."

"Yeah. I enjoy it a lot, though I don't think I'm good enough to go pro. I didn't even know you were still in school when I saw you at the World Cup."

"I've been flying since I vas three," Viktor replied. "It is vhat I am best at. But, it is not the only thing."

"I know the feeling," Harry replied. "What about you, Fleur?"

"I hate flying," Fleur admitted. "But, I don't mind watching it. I just prefer to stay on the ground."

"My friend is exactly the same," said Harry. "She thinks all brooms are out to get her."

"They are," Fleur confirmed with a nod. Harry and Viktor both laughed in response. Fleur was surprisingly mellow and easy to talk to, when there was no outside pressure around.

As they continued with their meals, several other patrons started to come in, and Harry was pretty sure every single one of them recognized who they were. It was only a few subtle glances to begin with, but then there were a few not-so subtle. It was a bit annoying.

It was hard to figure out who was getting the most attention. Viktor was more famous than ever, Harry had been thrust back into the limelight with his first place finish, and Fleur was drop dead gorgeous.

Krum seemed to shrink in on himself and become less talkative, and Harry felt awfully self-conscious. He didn't know what the people who were staring were thinking, and with the Polyjuice imposter incident so fresh in his memory, Harry was thinking of all the possibilities.

Apparently, Fleur was bothered the most, as she suggested that they finish up there. "I do not like ze gawkers," she said in in her heavily accented English. "I can feel zair eyes."

"Me too," Harry said softly. "Do you ever get used to it Viktor?"

"Nein," he said with a grunt. "This is our signal to go, I think."

Harry began to fish into his robe for some coins to pay for his meal, but Viktor stopped him. "I invited both of you here. I vill pay."

"Alright," Harry agreed. "I'll pay next time then. Assuming there is a next time?"

"There vill be," said Viktor, giving a single nod.

"Zat is agreeable," said Fleur.

They made their way out of the Three Broomsticks before going their separate ways. Krum was heading back to the floating Durmstrang ship, and Fleur went towards the Beauxbatons carriage.

As he walked up to the Hogwarts castle, which by no means was a quick journey, Harry reflected that it hadn't been that bad of a lunch. Pleasant, even. Sure, neither Fleur nor Viktor were that proficient at English, though Viktor was quite a bit better but still not really fluent. The conversation had been nice, if not especially deep.

Most importantly, Harry hadn't been starstruck. Viktor was a pretty down to earth guy. A bit like himself, if Harry was honest. He wanted to be the best at everything he did, but he enjoyed himself while doing it. Fleur, once Harry got beyond her pretty face, was actually quite easy to talk to as well. It was clear that she was highly intelligent, but most people would never realize that. Just like most people never looked beyond Harry's scar, most people never looked beyond her exterior.

Then again, her exterior was quite nice to look at.

Harry found the whole situation to be interesting. They were each competing for the Triwizard Cup, yet they were all doing it for their own reasons. But, when it came down to it, they were all just trying to prove themselves. Only time would tell which of them would be the most successful in accomplishing that.

* * *

Harry had barely made it back into the castle in time for his lessons. Not that Binns would have even noticed he was late getting to History of Magic... The day was turning quite exciting for Harry, as after Divination, he had been summoned to the Headmaster's office. This time he had been officially provided with the password, though it was still the same as the last time.

Harry barely knocked once before Dumbledore beckoned him to enter.

"Hello again, Harry," the headmaster said.

"Professor," replied Harry. "You wanted to see me?"

"Indeed. I feel it's best to not let past events simmer in our minds for too long, so I have been very proactive in the search for answers."

Harry took a look around the room, always surprised that every time he looked, there was something new to be seen. This time, there was what looked to be a terrarium set up on a stand in the corner of the office, filled with shrubs and with a charmed light casting sunlight down into the encasement.

"Noticed it, have you?" Dumbledore said, a grandfatherly smile plastered on his face. He approached the tank and Harry took that as his cue to do the same.

"What's in there?" Harry asked.

"Why, Rita Skeeter, of course," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. At Harry's alarmed and questioning look, Dumbledore quickly explained the situation. "After our previous meeting and subsequent 'event', I tracked down Miss Skeeter using our newly discovered knowledge. Tracking an Animagus can be a bit tricky, but there are various spells one can use. However, they are so infrequently employed because Animagi are so rare - there are only seven registered in all of Britain after all."

"Professor McGonagall is one of them," Harry said, nodding at the fact. "Hermione looked it up once."

"That is correct. I, myself do not possess the ability," the headmaster stated. "I never tried, truth be told. And, once you get past a certain age, it's no longer something that is easily learned, as your body starts to betray you. Alas, Rita here has managed it. How she did it, I am not sure, since she was never particularly gifted at transfiguration while at Hogwarts."

"Where is she?" Harry asked. Dumbledore had a tendency to ramble a little bit, so he tried to keep him on track.

"Look over there in the corner," Dumbledore said, pointing. "She's a beetle - a very convenient form if you ask me. I have a friend who can transform into a squirrell, which, while amusing, has no real use."

"What are you planning on doing with her?" Harry asked.

"That brings us to the main reason I asked you here tonight."

"You figured out what Jr was trying to accomplish?"

"Alas, no, but that is where Rita comes in. In exchange for keeping her secret, well, secret, she will use her form to help out our goals. Namely, trying to figure out what the connection is between the events. Was Crouch working with Pettigrew? Where is Pettigrew? Where is their master? Who else knew that Pettigrew or Crouch were alive? How is the Death Eater riot at the World Cup related? These are mostly unanswered questions, but with Rita's help, we may be able to answer a few, if not all, of these."

"What if she just decides to register her animagus form?" asked Harry. "That means she wouldn't be doing anything illegal."

"That's not the only thing she's done," Dumbledore said. "Spying on private meetings that involved myself, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and divulging that information, is a treasonable offense. She will be smart to remember that."

"I see," Harry said with a frown. "I'm guessing you have a few suspects in mind?"

"I do indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "You may remember from the last time I was here, I explained what a pensieve was and how I had been using it."

"I remember."

"Good, that's good," said Dumbledore. "My interest lies in the former followers of Voldemort. We caught many of them, that is true, but many more walked free. Some never came under scrutiny, while others claimed the Imperius Curse."

"You believe that one of them may have the answers you are looking for," said Harry.

"An old man can only hope," Dumbledore said with a weary sigh. "For without that hope, where do we stand? We cannot simply wait around for something bad to happen. We can stop this before Voldemort goes too far, but we have to figure out the link."

"What I don't understand is how Voldemort is even still alive. Like, he's technically the second person to survive a Killing Curse, even if most people don't believe he is alive. His curse didn't kill me, and the rebounded curse didn't kill him… I don't understand."

"Neither do I.' Dumbledore said. "His existence is that of a wraith - more than a ghost, yet less than a person. Something in between. He has enough of a connection to our to world to influence it and interact, even being able to possess people, such as Quirrell. The magic he used to revert to this form upon the destruction of his physical body I do not know. It is darker magic that anything I have ever heard of, though I admit that it could be a form of ancient magic merely long lost to history. I've spent a decade trying to figure it out. But, I do not believe his current existence is that of another possession. If he was giving orders to Barty Jr, then he must be hidden somewhere, and with a form that can interact with him. Rita is going to be searching the homes of all known Death Eaters, and some that I suspected to be ones, but have not been confirmed. Most homes do not have protections against Animagi, so it should be fairly simple."

"I see," Harry said. "It sounds like a good plan, but it feels like we're just going on a whim. Is Lucius Malfoy on your list?"

"At the very top," Dumbledore said, giving a small smile to Harry. "He, of course, claimed the Imperius Curse, after Voldemort's downfall. I didn't believe it for a second, but I am only one voice, and Lucius Malfoy's pockets are deep. He is influential enough to have gathered the amount of followers that were present at the World Cup."

"How is a man like that allowed to be on the Hogwarts Board of Governors?" Harry asked with distaste.

"Politics, and a lot of gold," Dumbledore said. "He's made a lot of friends in very high places, and has entrenched himself on many committees, to my distaste. However, he has not done anything overtly detrimental to the wizarding world for me to take a personal stand against."

"Other than being an unlikable berk."

"Correct," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "Rita will be looking into Lucius - I'm sure she will be more than happy to publish dirt on him if she were to find it. Right now though, I am more concerned about matters closer to us. And, in particular, you."

"I haven't gotten myself into trouble so soon, have I?"

"That remains to be seen," Dumbledore said, giving Harry a knowing look. "But, you should know better than to sneak out of the castle for a pick-me-up down at the Three Broomsticks."

"You know about that?" Harry said. Dumbledore merely gave him a look that said 'Who do you think I am?' "Oh, right. Well, it wasn't supposed to be some big secret. Plus, students sneak out there all the time."

"Yes, but they are not you," Dumbledore said. "It's not the sneaking part so much as the fact that you did not tell anyone. Despite Voldemort's cause having a temporary set back, until we know exactly what plot is in motion, you must tread carefully. Constant Vigilance, as Alastor would say."

"Is he going to be alright?" Harry asked, trying to change the subject.

"In a few days time he should be right as rain. He has agreed to pick up teaching as we had agreed during the summer. Though I suspect he will avoid topics like the Unforgivables now and focus on ways to detect imposters." Dumbledore said this with a twinkle in his eye, as if he knew exactly what Harry was trying to do. He was too clever to be diverted by such talk.

"That's good then," Harry replied.

"Yes. Now, luckily, I had people watching out for you while you were at Hogsmeade. My brother owns the Hog's Head you know."

"I did not know you even had a brother," Harry admitted.

"Yes, well, we're not especially close," Dumbledore replied, looking slightly abashed. "But, we do both share many of the same views, and keeping students safe is a priority for both of us. And, of course, I alerted Rosmerta that you would be there."

"Right. So you knew I was going to Hogsmeade during the day, breaking probably fifty rules in the process, and did nothing to stop it?"

"The Triwizard Tournament is foremost an event to develop international relations. If we have to bend the school rules a bit for that to take place, then so be it. But, I have to warn you about Viktor Krum and Durmstrang, Harry."

"Viktor seemed nice enough," Harry said. "Is this about them supposedly _teaching_ the Dark Arts there? I heard that rumor floating around."

"That is merely a rumor, I assure you. While what they label as Dark Arts may differ slightly than what we do, our school's curriculums are largely the same. One of my childhood friends went to Durmstrang… but that's neither here nor there. No, it's not Viktor Krum that you should worried about - it's his headmaster, Igor Karkaroff. You can rest assured that where Viktor Krum is, Karkaroff is not far away."

"I see," Harry said with a frown. "He seemed a bit familiar with Hogwarts, as if he went here. But that doesn't make sense - how would a Hogwarts alumni become headmaster for a foreign school?"

"He was a student here," Dumbledore said. "His family had sought refuge in England during the second World War. When Adolf Hitler and Gellert Grindelwald marched on Moscow, they had been displaced. I was already Headmaster when Igor was sorted into Slytherin - but how he became Headmaster at Durmstrang… perhaps that story is better told through a memory I had looked at recently."

"A memory," Harry asked "We're going to use your pensieve?"

"Yes we are," Dumbledore confirmed. "It can be disorientating at first, but remember, when inside the pensieve, events will play out in real time. However, you cannot interact with what you see."

"How do we use it?"

"It's simple," said Dumbledore. "Merely touch your hand to the surface of the memory, and you will be pulled in. I will follow you shortly."

Dumbledore went to a glass cabinet that held many vials of a strange substance, which Harry guessed were memories. There had to have been over a hundred of the vials, each meticulously labeled in a code that Harry did not understand. Finding the correct one, Dumbledore added it to the pensieve.

"It is ready," Dumbledore said, carefully observing the misty surface of the pseudo-liquid memory. "Remember, do not panic."

Harry nodded his head and only hesitated briefly in sticking his fingers into the memory. The reaction was immediate, and unsettling. It felt as if he was falling into an endless hole, only for him to suddenly land feet first on the surface of the memory. It wasn't as bad as the portkey to the World Cup, and it was slightly different than when he entered Tom Riddle's memory in the diary, though there were some similarities.

Shortly after, Dumbledore arrived, and Harry took a second to observe the surroundings. There was a hundred or so witches or wizards, all sitting in stands that were arranged around a central platform. Harry recognized a few of the wizards there. Mr. Crouch was at the forefront, presiding over what Harry guessed to be a court hearing of some sort. A younger version of Dumbledore, and a younger and less scarred version of Moody were sitting in the stands nearby. The real Dumbledore was standing over Harry's shoulder.

"This is the Wizengamot, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Crouch was head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He would have been Minister if it were not for the incident with his son. As it stands, he was an advocate against Death Eaters and prosecuted them to the fullest extent of the law. Tell me, do you recognized the man on trial?"

Harry squinted to get a better look at the man who was chained down to the dais at the front of the room. There were no grey streaks in his beard, nor ragged age lines on his face, though his Durmstrang furs had been replaced by worn and ragged robes. But he still recognized him. "Karkaroff," Harry said. "He's a Death Eater?"

"Just watch," Dumbledore said with a nod.

"Igor Karkaroff," Mr. Crouch said, standing up from his spot on the bench. He was in his prime, at the height of his power, and his strong voice echoed through the room. "You have been brought from Azkaban to petition your imprisonment. You have offered to stand trial in hopes of gaining some clemency. Is this correct?"

Karkaroff straightened himself out as much as possible, while trying to remain dignified. "I have information that you may find useful, in exchange for a reduced sentence. I wish this war to be over as soon as possible, and I am eager to assist in anyway possible. I will give you the names of all the of the Dark Lord's supporters that I know."

"Very well," Crouch said, looking around at the room. "We will hear what information you have, and then we will decided if it is of use to us. If it is, we may decide to be lenient."

"Greasy cunt," A voice said from besides them. It was the memory Moody talking to the memory Dumbledore. "He'd sell his own mother out if it meant he could walk free. And Crouch is going to let him go, I feel it. I spent six months tracking him down and he's going to be let go on the whim of a few names."

"Only if those names are useful," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Even if they are, I say we send him back to the Dementors anyways. Send a message to all the others. But, you don't like the Dementors, do you Albus?"

"I do not," Dumbledore replied. "I have long felt that it irresponsible for the Ministry to rely on such creatures, but the edicts that have made it so were set in place long before my time."

"You say you have names," Crouch said, prompting Karkaroff.

"I do. But the thing you must understand is that no single follower knows all of the others. For this very reason," Karkaroff said, gesturing to himself and the courtroom around him.

"All I am hearing are excuses," Crouch said firmly. "Will you give us your names or not?"

"The Dark Lord alone knows the names of all his followers. We operated in the greatest of secrecy, and I am saddened that I am to consider myself one of them… I must make amends in anyway I can…"

"Yes, yes, get on with it," Crouch said impatiently.

"These were some of his most important supporters, marked as I am. People I saw with my own eyes working for him. I give these names as a sign of good faith, that I renounce the Dark Lord and I am truly saddened at the acts I have committed in his name -"

"These names?" Crouch said, getting very annoyed at the showboating.

"Antonin Dolohov," Karkaroff said with a deep sigh. "We worked together for many years - he tortured countless Muggles and other non-supporters of the Dark Lord."

"We have already captured Dolohov," Crouch said. "Shortly after yourself."

"Truly?" Karkaroff replied, gulping with fear. "That - that is good news!"

"Do you have any other names?" Crouch said. "If not, you'll be back in Azkaban within the hour, and with a personal suggestion by me to extend your sentence for wasting our valuable time!"

Karkaroff gulped again. "I've got more! Rosier - Evan Rosier."

"Rosier is dead," Crouch said dismissively. "He was found shortly after you as well, except he tried to fight rather than come quietly, and was killed as a result."

"Took a bit of me with him too," Moody whispered with a lopsided grin. He was pointing at the chunk of his nose that was missing.

"No more than he deserved!" Karkaroff said. He was starting to lose his composure now, and was clearly sweating. His eyes darted to the corners of the room, as if he was trying to see if there was any way out

"Any more names?" Crouch asked.

"Yes, yes!" Karkaroff all but shouted. "Travers - he murdered the McKinnons! Mulciber - he specialized in the Imperius Curse - many of the cases that you know of were performed by him! Rookwood - he's a spy, passing the Dark Lord information from within these halls themselves!"

Karkaroff knew the last name had struck true. Murmurs in the crowd broke out, with several people looking at Mr. Crouch for instruction.

"Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?" Crouch asked, scribbling down the name on a piece of parchment. He handed it to a stern-looking witch sitting next to him.

"The very same," Karkaroff said eagerly. "He had a network of well-placed individuals, many of which had no idea that he was a spy, to collect information both within and outside of the Ministry."

"Very well," Crouch said. "Mulciber and Travers we have. If that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we deliberate over this new information."

"Not yet!" Karkaroff pleaded. "I have more! Snape! Severus Snape!"

Harry's eyes widened as Karkaroff shouted the last name.

"Snape has already been cleared by this council," Crouch replied disdainfully. "He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."

"No! I assure you, Severus Snape is a marked Death Eater! You cannot gain the Mark without an act of great evil!"

Dumbledore stood up from his seat on the bench. "I have already submitted my evidence on this matter. Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater, but has repented much like you are trying yourself. During the war, he turned spy for us at great personal risk and help mitigate much of the damage that would have been done by Voldemort's forces. Now, he is no more a Death Eater than I am."

"There you have it," Crouch said. "Very well, Igor Karkaroff. You have been of some assistance, and I shall review your case. In the meantime, you will return to Azkaban…"

The real Dumbledore turned to Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. "That is what I wanted you to see, Harry," he said. "Now, we shall return to the comfort of my office to talk about what you just witnessed."

Exiting the pensieve proved to be just as disorienting as entering it. The most disturbing part was that his body was in the same exact position that he had left it it, meaning he had never actually left Dumbledore's office. As, such, his muscles were very sore from the position he had found himself in.

With a sigh, Harry settled himself down in a cushioned chair. "So, Karkaroff was a Death Eater. As was Snape."

Dumbledore gave a small nod. "Snape was a personal spy of mine. You may not know this, but he and your mother were childhood friends. When he learned that Voldemort had decided to target your family, and by extension, her, he defected to our side. Karkaroff on the other hand, I have never been convinced of the sincerity of his words."

"I guess Mr. Crouch found his evidence worthy enough of a pardon?"

"A single name normally would not have been enough. But trudging through Rookwood's network of informants proved to be a treasure trove of information. Dozens of informants, both willingly and unwillingly, were discovered. Karkaroff escaped a long term sentence at Azkaban, but given the nature of his crimes, we could not let him return to England in good consciousness, so he was exiled. That's how he became headmaster at Durmstrang."

"And you think he's connected to Mr. Crouch's son."

"It does seem highly unlikely," Dumbledore admitted. "It is unclear if he even knew that Barty Jr was a Death Eater at the time - he was captured a month later along with the Lestranges."

"I don't think Barty Jr would work with someone who sold out a half dozen of his comrades,"

"Nor do I," Dumbledore said. "But, you still must be careful around Karkaroff. Whatever he may be, he has tortured people before. He has killed. He is one of the reasons I asked Alastor Moody to teach this year."

Harry nodded his head thoughtfully. "Sir, is it possible that there are others, others who faked their death?"

"It is certainly possible," Dumbledore said. "Before Peter Pettigrew, I had not known of any, and now we know of two. Part of what I will be doing in the upcoming weeks is combing through every name or whisper of a name that had anything to do with Voldemort. I will trace all of their last footsteps. There will be no more mistakes, I assure you."

"That sounds like a good plan," Harry said.

"I cannot ascertain as to the veracity of the idea, but it certainly is a plan. I suspect I will have many sleepless nights in my near future, but with Mr. Crouch's help, we should be able to close some loose ends. However, in the meantime, you have your own tasks to deal with. In fact, if you accompany me down to dinner, I will be announcing a supplementary event open to all students."

"A supplementary event?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I do think you will find it to your enjoyment. But alas, you will have to wait until dinner. Though, according to my clock, we've spent a little more time up here in my office than I had planned. We'll have to take a shortcut to the Great Hall."

Harry's idea of a shortcut and Dumbledore's idea of a shortcut were two entirely different things. Harry had expected a secret passage, or perhaps a fireman's pole leading right to his table. But, once he saw Dumbledore's customary twinkle, he knew he wasn't going to like it.

Of course, Harry should have known better. When Dumbledore picked up a pinch of Floo Powder and tossed it into the hearth, Harry just let out a massive sigh. Flooing had never gone over well with him.

One cleaning charm later, and with a stomach that was quite unsettled, Harry made his way over to the Gryffindor table where Ron and Hermione were already waiting patiently. Neville and Lavender were there as well, and the others sat down soon after.

"I hear there's an announcement being made tonight," Harry said to his friends.

"Where did you hear that?" Hermione asked curiously.

"I just spent an hour with the Headmaster," Harry said. "He was aware of my lunch excursion."

"And?" Hermione prompted.

"And, he told me to be careful of Karkaroff," Harry said. He leaned in close to his friends and continued in a whisper. "Apparently, he's a Death Eater. Or, was. He sold out a bunch of other Death Eaters to avoid Azkaban."

Hermione frowned. "I can't imagine that makes him too popular with the others," she said.

"That's why he is quite far away, at Durmstrang," Harry said. "Still, Dumbledore urged me caution."

"Sensible man, Dumbledore," Ron replied.

Harry told them a little about what he had seen in the pensieve while they ate dinner, but he didn't go into full detail. He knew that Karkaroff's trial was public record, but beyond that, he didn't want to say too much in case the wrong people were listening in. He didn't want another Rita Skeeter incident.

Once they had mostly finished eating, Dumbledore stood up and took his customary speech pose. "Attention all. This will only take a few minutes of your time, I promise."

The students settled down a bit and turned their attention to the headmaster. "The Second Task will take place on February the twenty-fourth. More information will be forthcoming later as we get closer to the date. But, I can tell you this - dress warm. However, in the meantime, it is my pleasure to announce the Yule Ball."

Excited murmurs ran through the students, but Dumbledore continued on, raising his voice louder than the din. "The Yule Ball is a Triwizard Tournament tradition, spanning back for nearly as long as the Tournament has been around. It is first and foremost, a formal ball. Everyone here is invited, though you do not have to participate if you do not want. However, it is traditional for the Champions to open the Yule Ball, so they will need to bring a date. Dancing lessons will be scheduled at a later date, for all those seeking them. And, of course, the date of the Ball itself is the twenty-fifth of December, at eight P.M. Official flyers will be going up, but I suspect in the meantime, you all will wish to discuss the event amongst yourselves. Feel free to do so…. now!"

"That explains the dress robes," Hermione said thoughtfully after Dumbledore sat back down.

"Blimey, I need a date?" Harry said, disgruntled by the news.

"Don't even look this way, Harry Potter," Lavender said from nearby. "I will not have that Skeeter cow running her mouth about me in the paper again."

Harry nodded weakly and looked over at Ron for support. "Tough luck, mate. But hey, you faced down a dragon. How hard could it be?"

"I just don't think I'm ready for another date so soon," Harry said with a sigh.

"It doesn't have to be a _date_ date," Hermione said. "You just need a dancing partner to open the Ball with."

"Alright, Hermione, are you offering?" Harry asked hopefully.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Use your imagination, Harry. You may not be ready for a romantic date so soon after your breakup, but I don't want to limit my options so early. If neither one of us have found a suitable date in a few weeks, then perhaps we could go as friends."

"Are you calling me a last resort?" asked Harry.

"Oh, don't be so offended," Hermione said with a wry smile. "You are the most eligible bachelor in Hogwarts. You are Harry Potter, Triwizard Champion. I bet people would _pay_ to be your date, if you run out of ideas."

"I don't know," Ron said. "If I were Harry, I would probably just ask the hottest girl in the school. That's what I'm going to do."

"Don't be so shallow," Hermione scolded.

"What? It's a good enough reason as any," Ron said. "If you're going to do the first dance, you might as well have a good looking bird on your arm, right?"

"I suppose so," Harry said. "I'm guessing you already have a list?"

Ron nodded eagerly. "Sure. Fleur Delacour is obviously at the top, but I figure someone like that has a bunch of hot friends as well, though not quite as hot as her. If Delacour fails, I'll try my luck with one of them."

Both Hermione and Harry set Ron with a flat stare.

"What? A bloke can dream, right? I'd rather not be stuck with Eloise Midgen."

This time, Hermione did hit Ron. "Don't be such a berk! With that attitude, you won't be able to get a goldfish, let alone an actual girl."

"Come on, back me up, Harry!" Ron pleaded.

"Sorry mate, no can do," Harry replied. His gaze followed the length of the Ravenclaw table until he spotted a certain asian fifth year. "I already have my own ideas."


	14. Chapter 14

The Yule Ball was maddening. That was the only way Harry could describe it. Asking Lavender out on a casual date that turned into a casual relationship had been difficult, but there had been no real pressure. That had been a spur of the moment thing, intentionally putting himself out of his own comfort zone.

Now, Harry had a deadline. He had known Lavender well enough, having spent several years in the same classes. Asking her out hadn't been too terrifying. But, now he was the Hogwarts Champion, and certain things were expected of him, even if he personally didn't agree with what those certain things were.

Already, _he_ had been asked out a half-dozen times by girls he didn't even know. There had been a sixth year Slytherin that had been half a foot taller than him, and a second year Hufflepuff. That had been amusing. She asking him out was pretty much the same thing as Ron asking Fleur Delacour out. But, without the extreme embarrassment.

Ron had asked Fleur out in the middle of dinner and completely out of the blue. Ron had been overcome with himself, almost as if he had been coerced, but as soon as he had realized what he had done, he had bolted from the Great Hall. His sister Ginny would not stop laughing for an hour afterwards, and Harry couldn't blame her.

Harry had not reacted as such to the second year Gryffindor, instead opting to politely decline. She looked almost happy to have been declined, as if merely getting Harry to talk to her had been enough. Perhaps it had been.

And despite all of this, Harry had still not found any time to work on his golden egg.

As each day passed, less and less girls asked him out. Harry still thought it was strange that girls were asking him, rather than the other way around, but he wasn't too surprised. It did seem like less people were asking him because they had gotten date with others. More and more dates were being found at a rapid pace, and Harry knew before long, there would be no one left.

That may have been a bit dramatic, but Harry knew he had to get his act together, feelings-be-damned. As usual, when he was looking for a specific person, he consulted the Marauder's Map.

The person he was looking for was taking a very specific path, a path that indicated that she was heading towards the Owlery. It wasn't too far from the Gryffindor common room, and he knew that it would take the girl a fair amount of time to complete the trip.

Steeling his resolve, Harry tucked the Map away and made his way out into the corridor. He went over what he was going to say repeatedly in his mind, but it always came out stupid.

So focused on figuring out what he was going to say, Harry nearly trampled over the very girl he was looking for. Barely more than five-foot tall, Cho Chang was slender with delicate features, yet he knew her to be a fierce competitor. And, she was the 5th year Ravenclaw prefect, which meant she had to be intelligent and authoritative as well. All qualities Harry liked in a girl, especially since she was extraordinarily pretty.

Sure, she wasn't as busty as Lavender, or as tall, but Harry considered Cho to be her superior in nearly every way. At least, in his dreams she was.

"Oh, sorry Cho," Harry said at once. "Almost didn't see you there."

"Hello Harry," she said timidly. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Hey, I know this may seem like odd timing," Harry said, not wanting to dance around the topic. "But, I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"Oh, sorry, I can't," said Cho. She looked genuinely crestfallen. "Cedric Diggory asked me out, and, well, I said yes."

"I see," Harry said, a slight frown forming on his face. "Well, Cedric's a lucky bloke then. No problem, I'll guess I'll be seeing you around then."

Harry turned to leave, but Cho said, "I truly am sorry."

"Me too," Harry. "I should have asked sooner."

Cho nodded sadly and Harry took that as his queue to leave.

Brooding all the way down to the Great Hall, Harry's mood had served to deter a couple more girls hoping to ask him out. There had been a few repeats, and Harry was half tempted to say yes to one of them, just to get them to stop.

Now he was on to plan B. His resolve was failing him, and it had taken quite a bit to even confront Cho Chang. That was the longest conversation they had ever had.

The problem was that he didn't have a plan B. The situation hadn't gotten so serious as to have to resort to plan HG, but he didn't want it to come to that. Hermione was his best friend, and having to dance with her would be awkward, to say the least.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Harry was about give the next girl to ask him out a piece of his mind. With his best brooding glare he could muster, he turned around, only to find the master of brooding glares standing right there, Viktor Krum.

"I'm sorry Viktor, I won't go the ball with you," Harry said. The words came so fast out of Harry's mouth that he hardly realized it until it was too late.

Viktor cracked a grin and slapped Harry on the shoulder, causing him to laugh as well. "Funny, Harry. Very funny. Sadly, I am spoken for. I haf a girlfriend back at Durmstrang, you know - she vill be coming here for the Ball. Anyways, I vas vondering if you vanted to do another lunch?"

"Sure," Harry said. "There's a Hogsmeade weekend this weekend - we can go then. Dumbledore did not take kindly to me sneaking out last time."

"I understand," Viktor replied with a nod. "Saturday then. I vill tell Fleur."

"Sounds great," Harry said. Viktor left to go tell the French witch, and Harry merely stuffed his face into his hands. "What am I going to do?"

* * *

The weekend rolled around and Harry still did not have an answer to the girl problem. It should have been easy. They had been swarming all over him like a pack of Dementors, trying to suck out his soul. Sadly, he didn't think the Patronus charm would be the answer.

It was with great trepidation that he, Ron and Hermione went down to Hogsmeade. Ron was in a similar funk, as he was having no luck getting a date either. Then again, after the disaster with Fleur Delacour, he may have put off the idea of going altogether. Harry didn't blame him. In fact, he slightly envied Ron since he was not actually required to go.

They entered the Three Broomsticks and Harry spotted Viktor and Fleur's table right away. With a bit of effort, they managed to prevent anyone else from sitting down, even though a couple of their school mates were in the building as well. In fact, Fleur seemed to be sitting sideways in her chair, conversing with one of her friends at a neighboring table in rapid French. It was a very sexy language when spoken like that.

Harry pulled himself out a seat at the Champion's table while Ron and Hermione good-naturedly joined the other Gryffindor's at a table near the back. Ron was slightly giddy that he was able to walk within five feet of Viktor _and_ Fleur, but Hermione merely smiled and rolled her eyes.

Viktor seemed to be in a surly mood. Even more so than normal. Half the pub seemed to realize that _the_ Viktor Krum was within their midst, and eating a meal in the same building as them. The other half realized that _the_ Harry Potter was there. And some mixture of both were focused on Fleur, who sat wearing a fashionable leather long coat hiding most of her beauty. It was quite cold out that day, so Harry didn't blame her.

They ordered their meals, and it became quickly apparent that choosing to have their lunch during a Hogsmeade weekend was turning out to be a pit of a problem. First, a fifth year came over to Viktor to ask for his autograph, and then he immediately asked Fleur to go to the Yule Ball with him. She quickly declined, but that set the mood for the rest of the meal.

The food was good. Excellent, even. But it was spoiled by someone coming up to the table every thirty seconds to talk to them. A seventh year Ravenclaw for Harry, then a sixth year Hufflepuff for Fleur, and then a different sixth year Hufflepuff for Harry. Harry even got asked by a _Durmstrang_ girl, much to Viktor's amusement. She had been quite pretty, Harry would admit, but she did have crazy eyes.

But, after the twentieth or so person to come to the table, Viktor had had enough. "This is getting quite tiresome," Viktor said. He might as well have insulted The Queen with how out-of-character the comment was. "You two should just get it over with and get dates."

"It is not my fault zat zair are no interesting boys at 'Ogwarts," Fleur said, crossing her arms, leaving the rest of her meal untouched. "Not all of us 'ave significant ozzers waiting for us back home."

"And what about you, Harry?" Viktor said, leaning forward. "You're twice as famous as I am, yet there are only a few weeks left and you are dateless."

"Only twice as famous?" Harry said with a small laugh. "I must be slipping."

Viktor grunted in amusement, but still waited for Harry to answer the question.

"I broke up with my girlfriend the day after I got chosen as a Champion. The breakup was reported in the newspaper, and it's sort of soured me on the idea. I don't want to put someone else through that sort of thing, since it will inevitably happen, even if it's not by that hag Rita Skeeter."

The Bulgarian Champion nodded along at all of the appropriate parts, but it was clear he wasn't buying the excuses. "I haf an idea," he said. "A solution to both of your problems."

"Oh?" Fleur said, raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Yes, please, master of social aptitude."

"I haf thought it vould be obvious," Viktor said, looking between the two of them. "You two should go together."

They both stared at Viktor, dumbstruck. Undaunted by their looks of disbelief, he continued on. "Harry is interesting enough to meet even your most vaunted standards, Fleur. And Harry - Fleur is beautiful and intelligent. And, since she is a Champion, her name is appearing all throughout the papers already so you do not haf to vorry about such things."

"Is that even allowed?" Harry asked after getting over the shock and absurdity of the idea. "Two Champions going together?"

"I don't see vhy that would be a problem," Viktor said. He was sporting a self-satisfied smile.

"It would stop all of our 'admirers' from annoying us," Fleur contemplated with a frown. "I would be okay with zis as long as we went as friends, nozzing more."

"Friends," Harry said, testing the word out. "That's exactly what I was thinking. Everyone else is expecting more than that with this Yule Ball, while I'm not ready for it. It would be nice to not be pressured in that fashion."

"You will need to learn how to dance," Fleur said as an afterthought. "Friends don't make other friends look like fools, non?"

"Right," Harry said. "Dancing. How hard could that be?"

Viktor winced, but Fleur continued on nonchalantly. "And, of course, I cannot 'ave my friend looking slovenly. I, obviously, know a bit about modern fashion, so I will help you."

"Er, thanks," Harry replied. "I know if I wasn't a Champion, you wouldn't even look twice at me, so I'll do my best to make the night not completely miserable for both of us."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic. I have always found your story to be quite fascinating, and meeting ze real you _has_ been enlightening. Viktor is right."

"Well, If you're okay with it, then I should at least ask you officially, if for no other reason than to quell the Hogwarts rumor mill."

"Zat would be acceptable," Fleur agreed, giving him a single nod. There was a slight smile on her face. She found Harry's akwardness to be a bit amusing.

"Fleur Delacour, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"I would be honored," Fleur accepted dramatically.

"Great. Now that that's settled, let's order dessert."

* * *

"You're going with _who!?"_ Ron all but shouted. He wasn't angry, just extremely surprised.

"Fleur Delacour," Harry said again. "Just as friends. We were getting tired of being asked ten times a day, so we decided it would be easier if we just went with each other. It was actually Krum's idea."

Ron sighed wistfully. "Only you could just luck into casually getting the hottest girl in the school as a date for the Yule Ball."

Harry shrugged. "She said that there just wasn't anyone interesting enough for her, but she probably didn't even contemplate looking at our year - how interesting can a fourteen year old be? Heck, I never actually thought of asking her either, since she is so far out of my league. If I had known it would have been so easy as just asking her, I'd have done that on my own accord a lot sooner."

"Hm, I guess slaying a basilisk with the sword of Godric Gryffindor does count as interesting," Ron mused thoughtfully. "And fighting off a hundred Dementors with a Patronus Charm."

"I didn't tell her about those," Harry said. "I'm not trying to woo her, and I don't think showing off would even be the way to do that. I reckon she has enough boys trying to do that around her as is."

"Why not?" Ron asked. "I mean, why not try and see if there could be something between the two of you?"

Harry shrugged again. "I guess I'm not really looking for a relationship. If something happens to come of it, then that's fine, I suppose."

"You must be the only person in the school who would go on a date with Fleur Delacour and not pursue it. Heck, I bet all you'd have to do is show you the scar from where the Basilisk tried to eat you."

"That's not one of my fondest memories, if I'm honest. Besides, what about you? You are going to ask someone out, right?"

"I don't know, I might just skip if. I've waited too long, and all the good ones are taken."

Just then, Hermione sat down next to them. "Eloise Midgen's acne is loads better, I'll have you know."

"That's great," said Ron, the tone in his voice indicated that he thought it was anything but great. "Really great."

"Really, Ron," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "There are loads of girls who still don't have dates. You boys putz around too much."

"Well then, who are you going with?"

"It so happens that Michael Corner asked me, and I said yes."

"He's an alright chap, I suppose," Ron said with a shrug. "I guess I'll have to make a list or something then, and see who is still available."

"How charming," Hermione said dryly. "Hey, Daphne Greengrass, will you go to the Yule Ball with me? You we're the next available girl on my checklist."

"As if I'd go with her," Ron scoffed.

"Why not?" Hermione asked. "She's very pretty, and smart. Better than me, in some classes, I'll admit."

"Her family considers my family to be blood traitors. That'd be a bit awkward, don't you think?"

"True," Hermione admitted. "Plus, I heard she's not even going to be here during the winter break, so there is that."

"Right. That means there's even less girls available than I thought," Ron said glumly.

"Well, why don't you just ask them all then?" Harry suggested. "Someone is bound to say yes. And don't mention a list."

"Hm. I guess that's a good of a plan as any," Ron begrudgingly agreed.

"Try the third years as well, you know the younger students are less likely to be asked."

"That's a good point," Ron said. "Who is the third year version of Lavender Brown?'

"Sorry, mate, can't help you there," Harry said with a laugh. "I'll tell you what. I'm going to go work on my egg clue for a bit, and if you have a date by the time I go to bed, I'll give you five Galleons. That should be enough of an incentive."

"Okay. You're on," Ron said. He didn't even wait for anyone else to respond before he was out the door and on the prowl.

"Really," Hermione said dryly. "That's all it took? Dangle a couple of coins in front of him - it's not as if he's completely broke anymore. He's done fairly well betting on you, you know."

"I know," Harry replied. "Still, five Galleons is what, like twenty five quid? A small price to pay to have him stop moping around."

Hermione smiled. "So, you and Delacour, huh? Sounds like an interesting story."

"Not terribly, no," said Harry. "I guess it was more of a thing of convenience, and as I told Ron, it was Krum's suggestion. We were both getting pestered relentlessly about the Yule Ball, so we figured we could both just go together and that would be that."

"Uh-huh," Hermione said, unconvinced.

"She's three years older than me, French, highly intelligent, and beautiful. I wouldn't even know what to do."

"Right. Well, firstly, you should pretend that she's an actual woman, rather than some mythical object set up on a pedestal."

"I know that. I'm not a complete idiot when it comes to that - I treated Lavender just fine, I'd think. The thing is, I don't know anything about her. With Lavender, we had three years of history."

"You and Lavender really didn't have anything in common, other than being in the same House and year. All I'm saying is, just go in with an open mind. Act around her like you want people to act around you, as if you weren't famous."

"I can try," Harry replied. "At least I don't go all slack-jawed around her like most guys do."

"Yes, that's a good start," Hermione said. "Do you remember how we became friends?"

"Of course," Harry said instantly. "How could I forget? The troll incident."

"Yes. Calling it an 'incident' is a bit succinct, but correct never-the-less. You and Delacour, and Krum for that matter, all fought against dragons. That's gotta be worth a little more than a troll when it comes to friendship building."

"Well, yeah," Harry replied. "Before that, they had been a bit standoffish, but afterwards, once we all realized what we had actually gone through, it became less of a competition of magical superiority. That's why we've had a few lunches together and whatnot. Just to kick back and relax a bit without the pressure that the whole tournament is putting onto all of our shoulders. That's sort of why Fleur and I agreed to go the the Ball, since it lessened the pressure of actually trying to find a date that we truly like enough to parade around in front of five hundred other people. But honestly, I'm sort of tired of talking about it already. It's not that big of a deal."

"It might not be that big of a deal to you," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "But, you can rest assured that the Yule Ball is going to be a big deal for every girl who is going. However, if you don't want to talk about it any more, I guess we can take a look at your clue for the second task. What have you done so far?"

"I opened it once, and then stuffed it at the bottom of my trunk. It's bloody loud."

"I remember," Hermione said. "We'll have to use our best silencing charms"

"Let's go to our normal practice room then. I'll grab the egg and the Map."

For the first time in a long while, everything on the Marauder's Map was as it should be. Mad-Eye Moody, the real one, was alone in his office. He had recovered from his ordeal, and was teaching Defense, picking up where his imposter left off.

Dumbledore had been against it, but Moody had originally agreed to teach for the year, and he would see it through. Whether or not the other students realized that there was something different about their teacher, Harry wasn't sure, but there was slightly less fervor about the Dark Arts, and there were slightly more practical lessons where Moody would observe and correct their forms while they practiced counter-curses. The paranoia and talk about constant vigilance were quite real, and the imposter had emulated that, as far as Harry could tell, perfectly. Perhaps the real Moody was even more paranoid now, after having been trapped in his own trunk for half of a year. The paranoia seemed justified.

Somehow, the truth behind the matter still had not reached the gossip mill. It was a bit disturbing how accurate Barty Crouch Jr. had been, so good that he had hid under Dumbledore's nose for half a year, and was only found out by chance. Harry felt like a real disaster had been averted. And to top it off, he hadn't seen Rita Skeeter on the Marauder's Map in weeks. She was fulfilling her end of Dumbledore's bargain, though if anything had come of it yet, Harry didn't know. Dumbledore had been more forthcoming with information this year than any previous, but Harry still wasn't privy to the finer details of any of his plans. Being kept in the loop at all was a huge change in pace that Harry was truly grateful for.

The empty classroom that Harry and Hermione had found themselves in was the same one that had used often previously. For better or worse, scars of their previous training could be seen around the room. Scorch marks on the walls, bits of wood scattered around the floor, and fresh footprints in the dust all were signs that the room saw semi-frequent use.

Harry plopped the egg down in the middle of the room, and the two of them began to put up their normal concealment charms. In addition, they both put up all the secrecy charms they knew of, at least the ones to supress sound. Harry had gotten a bit better with them after Rita had eavesdropped on him and Lavender. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

"A bit heavy, isn't it?" Hermione asked as she picked up the egg.

"There's a ton of enchantments on it too. We have to be careful when testing it - I already know the summoning and levitation charms don't work."

"Makes sense," said Hermione. She took a second to transfigure them both a pair of earmuffs, similar to what they used in their second year when they worked with Mandrakes. "Might as well start somewhere. Put these on."

They both put their ear protection on, and with a nod, Harry opened up the egg. The screeching sound was still quite obnoxious, even with the ear protection. The sound actually seemed to vibrating his entire body.

Harry took a minute to be proactive, however, and leaned forward to observe the inside of the egg, even as his body resonated to the sound. The inside looked much like he expected - gold and concave. There was nothing inside to indicate anything at all. It was empty.

With a sigh, Harry closed the egg and took off the ear muffs. Hermione did the same.

"I guess the sound itself is supposed to be the clue. Unless the egg is made up of some sort of gold only found at the top of Mount Kilimanjaro or something."

"I'd have to agree," Hermione said. "But, the sound could be anything. The mating call of a kelpie perhaps."

"More like the the mating call of a mandrake. Or maybe it _does_ have something to do with a banshee. The one thing I know is that the sound is obnoxious." Harry sighed and leaned backwards, resting against the wall. The egg had given him a headache, even though he had worn ear muffs.

"You're not concentrating, Harry," Hermione scolded. "I can't help you if you aren't focused. The answer is here in front of us - we just have to find it."

"I can't help it," Harry groused.

"It's about her, isn't it?"

"No, it's about me," Harry said, sighing once more. "I'm worried about messing things up. I don't want to act like a fool in front of her."

"You'll do fine, Harry," Hermione said softly. "I've never known you to back down from a challenge. And if you do well, think of what could happen. And I don't mean _that_."

"Right, right," Harry said quickly. "I think I've had enough of this egg for now. We'll need to find some sort of identification charm if we're to figure out what kind of noise it is. That means library time, instead of sitting in this dusty room. Plus, I want to see Ron's face when he comes back from his adventure."

They got back to the common room a bit early, as there was still over an hour until curfew. Plenty of students were milling around, with only a handful actually working on schoolwork. Harry and Hermione hadn't sat down for five minutes before Ron came in through the entrance.

"Is that a smile or a frown on his face?" Harry asked, peering at Ron.

"It looks like a smile to me," replied Hermione.

"I guess I'll have to go get some gold then," Harry said, groaning internally. But, he was happy for Ron, if it was true. He'd find out in a second.

"Well, how did it go?" Hermione asked diplomatically.

"Excellent, truly excellent,"said Ron. "Well, not at first. I asked a couple of fifth years to begin with, though they were all already taken. That got my confidence up, despite the feeling that there may be no one left. I hadn't been spurned outright, which was a win for me. So, then I went to some of the girls in our year. Morag MacDougal, Lily Moon, Su Li -"

"And?" Harry prompted.

"Hannah Abbott said yes." Ron was grinning ear to ear now.

"Wow, congratulations," Harry said. Hannah Abbott was a tall blonde who usually wore her hair in pigtails. She hung out mostly with Susan Bones and Ernie Macmillan, and was quite smart as well. And, she was pretty.

"See, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" Hermione asked.

"Not too bad," Ron replied. "Now, pay up Harry."

Harry sighed. "I'll be right back."


	15. Chapter 15

Christmas at Hogwarts had always been special to Harry. It had nothing to do with religion, since Harry wasn't religious at all, nor were any of his friends, but it was the sense of tradition and culture the holiday brought to the school. It was about belonging to something and sharing it with others.

Of course, there was also the presents. Harry had found it a bit odd at first that some wizards would celebrate a Muggle holiday, but when he saw the small pile of presents with his name on them, he didn't really care.

Getting a Christmas sweater from Mrs. Weasley had always been the highlight for him, and this year was no different. This one was a green color and had a dragon knitted into it. Harry put it on immediately.

Some of his other gifts included a book on Quidditch (from Hermione, of course), a massive bag of dungbombs (from Ron), a box of sweets (from Hagrid), and a magical penknife (from Sirius) that could allegedly unlock any lock and undo any knot - it was a bit redundant with the lockpick he had bought from Hogsmeade, but it was still cool. Lavender Brown had gotten him a case of butterbeer, which was quite kind of his ex-girlfriend. Harry had gotten her enough of her favorite chocolate to last her a month (though knowing her, probably a couple hours).

All the presents in the world could not distract them from what was to come that night. Ron's nerves were getting the best of him, and he couldn't stop fretting with his dress robes.

"What do you think, Harry?" Ron asked. "Do they look older than Dumbledore?"

"Too many frills," Harry stated. "Mine are alright, they're smooth and have a clean design."

"Well, yeah," Ron said with a sigh. "Fleur Delacour picked yours out. If the French only had a single talent in the whole world, that would be fashion."

"That is true," Harry said, laughing gently.

"So, are you and her… you know?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. We've had a couple of lunches together, but honestly I'd barely even call us friends. I'm not even sure if either one of us want to progress beyond that, but I'll just wait and see where it goes. There's too many other things to worry about at the moment."

Ron nodded his head. "I can't pretend to know what that's like. I've never had a girlfriend, but if Hannah and I happen to get along, well, I'm open to the possibilities, I'd say. That's not my goal though."

"Nor is it mine," Harry agreed. "I don't want it to be awkward, so I will just go with the flow and let Fleur control the terms of our friendship."

"That makes sense. I do think you have a chance though - if you aren't worthy enough, then who is?"

"I try not to think of it like that," Harry said. "But, I suspect that's some of the reason why she even agreed to go to the Yule Ball as friends. I just don't want to mess this up."

"You'll be fine," said Ron. "It's not like you asked her out of the blue like I did. Man, was that embarrassing. I didn't even tell her my name!"

"I'll make sure to introduce you," Harry said. "Shall we go?"

* * *

It had only taken Harry fifteen minutes or so to get ready for the Yule Ball. For some reason, it took Hermione the better part of four hours, but he chose wisely not to comment. However, the four hours had done wonders for Hermione, and Harry was sure that her date would be quite pleased.

McGonagall had instructed all of the Champions and their dates to meet up in the small side-room attached to the Great Hall. It was the same room that they'd used several times previously, and seemed to be some sort of semi-official Champion gathering room.

Viktor and his date were already there. Fleur wasn't there yet, but Harry didn't have to wait too long before she made an appearance. It took a lot of effort for his jaw to not just fall off his face. Viktor elbowed him in the ribs before he even began to stare for too long.. Harry cleared his voice as Fleur joined him.

"You are more gorgeous and radiant than I'd ever dared dreamed," Harry said in his best imitation of a posh voice. Fleur rolled her eyes.

"You look good as well," Fleur replied.

Harry's own appearance was inconsequential. Sure, he had very nice dress robes. They were back velvet with silver threading, and he had a tall collar as well - fancy stuff in his opinion. And, he had also tamed his hair using an abundance of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, courtesy of Hermione who had bought a vat of the stuff in an attempt to curb her own hair's wildness.

But, no one would even spare him a glance, not while he was anywhere near Fleur. She truly _was_ radiant. She could have been dressed like a House Elf and still have been the most attractive girl in the school. But she wasn't dressed as a House Elf.

Fleur was wearing a stunning dress of silvery-grey satin, molded perfectly to her form. It was low-cut enough to show off a hint of cleavage, enough to make her look exquisite and classy, but not so much as to appear cheap and slutty. Which, coincidentally, was how Harry would describe how some of his other classmates had dressed.

Her dress had slits on the side, which only served to show off her amazing legs, which were capped off with a pair of silver heels. Well, they weren't actually heels. Fleur had taken the initiative to wear semi-flat dress shoes so as to not appear too much taller than her younger date, and it worked moderately well.

"My eyes are up here," Fleur said with a smile. Harry blushed as he made eye contact with her.

"At least no one will notice how bad of a dancer I am with you on my arm," said Harry. "Or rather, with me on your arm."

"Zat is true," Fleur replied. Her smile really was quite nice.

"I got you a gift. A friendly gift, I should say. Yellow is apparently the color of friendship… so here you go."

Harry pulled the flower from behind his back where he had been hiding it. It was a massive yellow rose, nearly two feet in length with a huge bulb. Harry had plucked it from Greenhouse Five, after learning about what kind of flower could be given without a romantic subtext.

"Mon Dieu!" Fleur said with a gasp as she saw the flower. "Magnifique!"

"A flower for Fleur," Harry said. That was about the lamest thing Harry could think of saying, but it got a friendly laugh out of Fleur.

"It's ze size of a parasol," Fleur said with a laugh. "Where am I supposed to put it?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Harry admitted. There was a large smile on Fleur's face, and her eyes twinkled. So far, he was off to a good start. "We'll find a vase for it, or transfigure one."

Professor McGonagall chose that moment to enter the room. Her eyes raked over the two couples that were in there, with her eyes briefly setting on Fleur's giant flower. Viktor and his girlfriend Irena, a very pretty black-haired girl wearing a crimson dress, were talking in very hushed whispers. McGonagall had to cough to get their attention.

"In two minutes time, you will be walking out of these doors in front of the assembly. Then, the music will start and the first dance will occur, just with you four alone. Afterwards, Headmaster Dumbledore will say a few words to officially start the Yule Ball."

Harry nodded and focused on the task at hand. Since it truly was a task. He had taken up the dancing lessons that had been offered on several occasions, but he still didn't have the utmost of confidence in himself. Not with everyone watching him.

"Take my arm, 'Arry," Fleur said, holding out her arm. She was wearing a black bracelet that served to offset her shimmering dress, and a black necklace for a similar purpose with her silvery-blonde hair. Harry would actually go so far as to call her platinum-blonde, and instead of her usual style of having it perfectly straight down her back with not a single hair out of place, she wore it in loose ringlets that looked very classy and extremely appealing.

McGonagall timed the two minutes down to the second, and when the time came, she opened the door leading the the Great Hall and held it open for them. Fleur handed the giant flower off to McGonagall before she could say anything, much to both of their amusement.

Upon entering the Great Hall, Harry was dazzled by the changes that had come over it. The long House tables had been replaced by several dozen smaller round ones, and a large area had been set aside for dancing. Scores of couples lined the area, waiting for the Champions to enter.

"May I present to you, Viktor Krum and Irena Krynchikov. Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour!"

The Champions took that as their cue to advance to the dance floor. Harry did his best to ignore all the stares, and surprisingly, he found it easy. Everyone truly _was_ staring at Fleur, not him. And rightfully so.

Harry hadn't noticed them at first, but there was a band set up on one side of the room. There were a lot of members, and a lot of instruments, but he had spent enough time with Lavender Brown to know that this was her favorite band, the Weird Sisters. Harry found the band to be tolerable, but he didn't know their music well enough to be able to name individual songs, let alone the band members.

Harry was surprised when the band started playing a very slow dancing tune. He quickly got into dance mode and did his best to remember what McGonagall drilled into him during the dance lessons.

Truthfully, the slow dance wasn't too hard. Theoretically, at least. The hard part were all the variables, such as not stumbling over his own feet, not stubbing Fleur's feet, ignoring everyone else in the Great Hall, and not accidently twirling Fleur into a table. While it would be funny, Harry didn't think she would forgive him for that. Stubbed toes maybe, thrown through a table, probably not.

Harry managed to not embarrass either of them, much to both of their relief. Fleur could dance. Harry would even go so far as to say that she was an excellent dancer, though he was no judge of such a skill. At any rate, she managed to get him smoothly through all the moves without too much effort. Harry had been under no illusion that he would be the one in control, and he was more than happy to let her lead.

The song lasted for five or so minutes, Harry wasn't sure. He didn't mind the dancing, not truly, especially not when his partner was someone as good looking as Fleur. But, that just meant that every dance from then on would be inferior. He would just have to live with that.

Polite clapping greeted their ears as the Champions slowed to a halt and bowed before the crowd. Dumbledore stood up to give the opening words. Harry gave a sigh a relief, now that the first dance was done.

"Thank you all for coming to this Yule Ball," the elderly headmaster said. "This is a time to celebrate as we all come together in jolly cooperation. Today is a day that we can all let our inner-selves show. Forget your classes, forget your homework, and just have fun!"

There was more applause, and the music started up again. While Harry had thought the Weird Sisters to be a mere rock band, they played the slow dance tunes quite well.

Other couples took the Headmaster's hint and flooded onto the dance floor. Harry spotted all of his friends. Ron was reluctantly dancing with Hannah Abbot. He didn't seem to be doing too bad. Hermione was enjoying herself with Michael Corner. Neville Longbottom was with Ginny Weasley, which was surprising. Ron seemed to be going out of his way to ignore them though.

Harry's ex-girlfriend, Lavender Brown, was with his roommate Seamus. Harry stared at them for a second as Seamus was edging himself closer to her, and Harry found himself not caring all that much. In fact, he felt a bit happy for them. He had Fleur Delacour on his arm, after all. He felt the same of Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory, who were already locked in a snogging embrace. Cho looked quite good, and Harry would have been overjoyed if she had said yes, but it had not meant to be.

The second dance was a standard slow dance. Every ball to ever be held had the same dance. It was very generic, but with a romantic leaning. Harry was feeling a bit awkward, as he and Fleur were strictly there as friends. He had one hand on her slender waist, and was too afraid to even move it a quarter inch, but Fleur was the one who took the initiative and pulled him slightly closer.

Harry gulped, but merely went with it. He was having fun, despite the inner tension he was feeling. Fleur noticed. "You need to loosen up, 'Arry," she said. "Just go with ze flow, non? Don't worry so much about appearances."

"I'll try," Harry said. "Just tell me if I'm taking too many liberties."

"What about not enough?" Fleur asked. She raised an eyebrow at him in question, an action that Harry found extremely alluring.

"That too," Harry agreed.

Harry pulled Fleur closer to him, wrapping his arm around her tiny waist, enough so that he felt her ample chest squeezing against him. It took all his force of will to not stare too long, but he thought he managed as Fleur lead him through the dance. She wasn't too much taller than him, and instead of getting distracted by her cleavage, a distraction that men greater than him would have fallen prey to, Harry found himself getting mesmerized with her flawless face and deep blue eyes.

Fleur wore the exact right amount of makeup for someone with her complexion and hair color. Her pink lipstick spoke nothing of her intentions, and her black eyeliner and mascara accentuated her almond-shaped blue eyes. She smiled when she caught him staring, but that just went to show off her amazingly perfect white teeth. She also smelled of freshly picked flowers, unsurprisingly.

"You are very beautiful," Harry told her. "Every guy in here knows it, and I'm lucky you chose me to go with."

"You are kind for saying so," Fleur replied.

"I find myself wishing I was a few years older," Harry admitted wistfully. "Also, I find myself wishing I knew French."

"I cannot help with ze age," Fleur said with a small smile. "But _le français_ , perhaps."

They twirled around the dance floor, somewhat in sync with the other couples performing similar moves. There had to have been a hundred couples dancing all at once. Some people were switching out, and to Harry's amusement, he saw Dumbledore dancing with Maxime. The tip of his hat barely touched her chin, but regardless, they managed to dance quite eloquently. More of note, perhaps, was Mad-eye Moody managing a complex diddy with Professor Sinistra, who was doing her best to avoid his wooden leg.

Couples began to break away from the dance floor to rest up and get drinks, or even eat dinner. Harry noticed that there were menus laid out upon all of the tables to allow for personalized ordering, which was something he had never seen at Hogwarts before. Hermione would surely be in a fit knowing the the House Elves would be the ones incorporating the new system.

"I'm getting thirsty, "Arry," Fleur said after a few more dances.

"Me too," Harry said. "A bit hungry as well."

"Zen, let us go eat," Fleur said. "Viktor and Irena are sitting by ze officials,"

They walked over to where Viktor and his girlfriend were sitting. Karkaroff was there, as was Percy Weasley of all people. Bagman and Madame Maxime were deep in chat about something.

Harry was going to ignore Percy all together, but Percy Weasley quickly addressed Harry. "I've been promoted. I'm Mr. Crouch's personal secretary - he had other business to attend to…"

"Good to know," Harry said distractedly. He knew what sort of 'other' business Crouch had to worry about.

Pulling Fleur's seat out for her with an over-exaggerated flourish, Harry indicated for his date to sit down.

"Zank you," she said.

"My pleasure." Harry sat down a second later and picked up the menu. Many of the other couples had the same idea as well, and were now ordering food. Harry took the initiative and holding the menu close to his face, he said, "Pork chops!"

Harry did his absolute best to ignore Percy. He had tried to engage in conversation, but he had never once been interested in anything he had said. And, Harry already knew what kind of 'business' Crouch was taking care of. Giving all of his attention to Fleur seemed to be the much more prudent thing to do.

Fleur and her headmistress spent a minute talking in rapid-fire french, so fast that Harry couldn't even pick out a single word. Maxime ended the conversation with a nod, and Fleur held her menu up to her face before ordering her meal, which included a glass of Chardonnay to go with her swordfish.

Harry didn't give it much thought, other than again wishing that he was older so he could partake in such drinks without having to be sneaky about it. Or hope that Fred and George would spike the punch later on. He was happy enough that the butterbeer he called for into the menu appeared just a few short seconds later. He didn't know anything about food pairings, but he would conclude that butterbeer went with everything.

"What's it like at Beauxbatons?" Harry asked. It seemed like a good time to try and make small talk. "I can't imagine it getting anywhere near as cold as here."

Fleur craned her neck up to look at the enchanted ceiling. It was snowing out, though gently. "Our school is something like a palace," she began. "At Christmas, we 'ave nevermelting ice sculptures. Zey look like diamonds, dazzling every room. And, of course, ze food is superb."

"You don't like Hogwarts very much, do you?"

"It _is_ too cold," Fleur admitted. "And it snows far too often. But it is quaint, if a bit grim. Too many suits of armor, I zink."

"I can't imagine you have as many random portraits as we do," Harry said. "Hags playing cards, random 14th century inventors whose invention has never been relevant, lots of random people."

"I do find zat history interesting, but non, our portraits are of beautiful zings. Ze sunset, Paris, unicorns… Also, we don't have any vile poltergeists…"

"Peeves _is_ a bit annoying," Harry agreed. "But you're right - it's a lot of history. I didn't even know magic existed until I got my Hogwarts acceptance letter. My only living relatives are muggles you see, so it's like I'm returning home whenever I come here. What about your family? Brothers, sisters?"

"One sister," Fleur replied. A small smile graced her face. "She's ten, so she'll start her first year at Beauxbatons next year. I miss her terribly."

"So you'll be leaving just as she's starting?" Harry asked. "Do you have any plans after this year is over?"

"I have given it some zought," Fleur said. "An enchanting apprenticeship, I zink. Zey don't happen all ze time zough, so I will have to see. . Perhaps something with ze bank..."

"That sounds like it could be interesting. For me, I suspect I'll end up an Auror one way or another."

"Zere is an interesting rumor I heard," Fleur said, taking a sip of wine. "About you being able to cast ze Patronus Charm? Zat's an Auror spell for sure."

"That's not a rumor," Harry said with a shrug. He leaned forward slightly to engage her in a story. "But it is an interesting tale. You know who Sirius Black is, right?"

"He is ze man who broke out of Azkaban last year," Fleur responded.

"Rumor is he broke out to try and kill me. It never happened, but regardless, the Ministry placed a whole bunch of Dementors here at Hogwarts as guards. I have a bad reaction around them, and one time during a Quidditch game, they swarmed the field during a storm and I fell off my broom. If I had known the Patronus Charm then, I'd have been okay I think, so I asked the Defense professor at the time, Remus Lupin, to teach it to me. It must have taken a hundred hours, but I finally mastered it. I reckon I managed to chase away a hundred of them with it."

"Zis Lupin must have been quite ze teacher to have a third year student learn such a difficult spell,"

"Yeah, he was great," Harry confirmed. "He taught a lot about dark creatures, and it helped that my boggart turned into a Dementor - I well and truly hate those things."

"Zey are horrifying," Fleur agreed with a nod.

"Can you cast one?" Harry asked curiously.

"Non," Fleur said, shaking her head. "Zere is little need for it in France, and ze time required to learn it seemed too... extravagant, for a spell I would likely never use. Perhaps one day."

"Perhaps when the tournament is over," Harry said. "Too many things to worry about as is."

"Zat is true," said Fleur.

"So, right now everything seems to point in that direction, being an Auror," Harry continued. "However, I wouldn't mind following in Krum's footsteps. It would take a lot of work though."

"Viktor puts in ten times as many hours than everyone else on the Quidditch team, combined," Irena said. Somehow, despite being obviously Russian, her English was quite good. And apparently she had been listening on on their conversation.

"Being the best takes a lot of work," Viktor said, joining in. "Your free time dwindles down to nothing, and even maintaining a steady relationship can be hard."

As Viktor said this, he leaned in and planted a heavy kiss on Irena's lips. Harry cringed and looked away. There was no way that Viktor's night didn't end up in a flurry of thrown clothes, and that was something he didn't want to think about. Viktor hadn't seen her in two months, but from the way they acted, someone would think it was two years.

Harry actually shivered at the sight. Had he and Lavender ever looked like that? He didn't think so, as there had never truly been any real passion. Mostly eagerness and excitement, which made up for their inexperience. Viktor felt something deeper, perhaps lust, but something more than that as well.

The Weird Sisters finished their own break after around forty-five minutes, and the post-dinner entertainment was set to begin. Students began filling out onto the dance floor again, and Harry was feeling pretty good after a delicious meal.

Harry struggled to recall the singer's name as he stepped forward. Lavender had talked about them often enough - he wanted to say it was Myren, but it didn't really matter. They got a huge round of applause, even as many of the girls were bouncing up and down in excitement. Then, the lead guitarist plucked a few chords.

The drummer started a beat, and many people immediately knew what song it was. Harry wasn't amongst them, but he did bob his head to the bass. It had a good rhythm. The cello player joined in with a long note before the guitarist finally started with an excitable solo.

It was pretty good, if Harry was honest with himself. He wasn't sure how a lute and cello could actually be incorporated into a rock band, and while they weren't Queen, Harry found the song enjoyable enough. Fleur apparently did as well, as she took hold of his hand and pulled him deep into the crowd of dancing bodies.

The girls seemed to go even more crazy when the bagpipe player started up. Harry wasn't about to complain, as all he could really pay attention to was the way Fleur _bounced_ around in her dress, practically smothering Harry with her body. This wasn't any sort of dance style he had experience with, so he did what everyone else was doing and moved to the rhythm.

It was fun.

The energy the students gave off was amazing. Everyone was into the music, and it could have very well been the first time most of them had seen a live band. Dumbledore merely watched from the sidelines, a wide smile on his face, as Moody, the real Moody, made annoyed gestures and scanned the crowds, looking for trouble. He wasn't going to 'bop' around to the tunes like they were.

By the time the fourth or fifth song came along, Harry was getting quite tired, and very thirsty. His forehead was glistening with sweat, and he had to wipe it with the back of his forehand. "We should take a break, I think," Harry suggested. "I don't want to pass out from the heat."

Fleur nodded her head. "I am a bit zirsty," she replied.

There was a punch bowl a bunch of students were lingering around, creating an impromptu break area. Ron was there, sleeves rolled up and lounging in chair. Ron's date, Hannah, was nowhere to be seen. A couple other students from their year were lingering as well, all with drinks in hand.

"Hey Ron," Harry greeted, reaching for a cup to fill up. "Where's your date?"

"She went to the loo, I think," Ron replied with a shrug. "Left about thirty minutes ago, so I reckon she's gone somewhere else."

"Ah. That bad of a date?" Harry asked.

"It was going alright, I guess. Dancing isn't really my thing though. And to be honest, I'm a bit sick of the Weird Sisters - Ginny listens to them nonstop and if I hear that song about the witch's brew one more time, I may go crazy. What about you? I see your date hasn't grown bored of you yet?"

Ron raised an inquiring eyebrow in Fleur's direction, while trying his best to not make direct eye contact with her.

"Oh, yeah, introductions. Fleur Delacour, this is my best friend Ron Weasley. Ron, this is Fleur."

"A pleasure," Fleur said. She took the cup that Harry had filled and offered to her. Taking a sip, she grimaced, but didn't say anything else.

"Yeah, a pleasure," Ron echoed back. Harry nodded and diplomatically led Fleur away. He took a sip of his own cup and realized that it was obviously spiked. He winced, but it was a bit weak. Only the juice in the bowl had a refilling charm on it, not the alcohol, so it wouldn't have taken too long for it to dilute.

They finished their drinks and set the glasses to the side before heading back out to the dance floor. There were still a lot of students dancing, but some of the energy was dying down. It was getting a bit late into the night.

Fleur was a bit enthusiastic in the next dance, bouncing up and down and shaking her hips. So much so that Harry was getting a bit distracted by her bountifulness. Fleur caught him staring but merely raised a questioning eyebrow. "Are you going to dance?"

"I was just noting how wonderful of a dancer you are," said Harry. "You are very graceful, and way better than me."

"I had ballet lessons when I was younger," Fleur replied. "Five years, in fact."

"Not anymore?" Harry asked. "This is obviously different than ballet, but it looks like you're still enjoying yourself."

"Well, when I started getting older, zese things sprang into my life." As Fleur said this, she quickly gestured at her more-than-ample chest. Harry was fairly sure that they were the first thing _anyone_ noticed about her, while her rear was the _last_ thing people noticed, as she walked away. "Zey are a bit cumbersome for prolonged dancing… and distracting."

"Yes, distracting," Harry nodded absentmindedly. "I _was_ wondering if you were wearing that dress for your own amusement, or mine. No complaints either way."

"A bit of both," Fleur replied with a smile. She took a second to adjust her bra, noting Harry's reaction as she did so. "I am quite amused at people's reactions. It is like zey have never seen a woman before."

"A woman as beautiful as you?" Harry asked. "Not bloody likely."

"Usually it is a bit annoying," Fleur admitted. "But tonight's a night where we, as Champions, are meant to be seen. So it is amusing… and fun."

"Definitely amusing," Harry agreed. "My friend Ron barely even managed to say hi."

"It was no wonder his date disappeared," remarked Fleur.

They continued to dance into the night, though at some point, the energetic songs were switched back to slower, more romantic songs. During that time, Hermione had made an appearance, as well as one of Fleur's friends, Claudine. Hermione fared a bit better than Ron with conversation, and her ability to speak some French impressed the Beauxbatons witches quite a bit. Apparently it had been a running joke amongst the French witches that no one at Hogwarts seemed to speak anything other than English. They were considered uncouth, though it was usually meant in jest.

Students began trickling out of the Great Hall. Ron had left an hour or so ago, and most of the students that did remain were actual couples dating. The slow dances had turned a bit too romantic for Harry's taste, and many of the remaining couples were closely embraced. It was getting a bit awkward for Harry. The night had been fun for him, and though he had casually flirted with Fleur, it had been mostly in a teasing or joking manner, and Fleur had reciprocated in an equally flirty and casual manner.

"It's getting pretty late," Harry pointed out. "I don't want either one of us to feel pressured into doing stuff we're not comfortable with, such as what everyone else around us is doing. How about I walk you down to your carriage?"

"Zat would be acceptable," Fleur said, taking one look around the room. Everyone everywhere was kissing, except for the teachers. The few that remained awake at any rate. Flitwick was passed out in his chair, and Snape was nowhere to be found. Dumbledore was chatting with Moody, but they, along with McGonagall, were the only ones left.

It was cold outside, and Harry didn't hesitate a second in giving Fleur his cloak. Sure, it would have been just as easy to cast a warming charm, but it just wouldn't have the same feeling as being physically covered and protected from the elements.

The Beauxbatons carriage wasn't a terribly long walk from the Hogwart's entrance, but the path was a bit slippery from the fresh snow. Ice was a concern, so they walked a bit slower than would have been normal, perhaps.

Stopping at the door to the carriage, Fleur turned towards Harry. "You were a perfect gentleman tonight, Harry." she said gently. "Well, almost perfect."

"I had a lot of fun tonight," Harry responded. "More than I thought I would. I hope I didn't overstep any boundaries."

"Non," she replied. "Any ozzer man would have tried, I zink. I've had some bad dating experiences, but zis was ze best. You are a very unusual wizard, and I find that captivating. Zis was very fun."

"I'm glad you think so," said Harry. "I didn't even get to tell you the story about the Chamber of Secrets, but I suppose that could wait for another day. It is a bit cold out, and I don't think I'd be able to do that story proper justice."

Fleur nodded her head. "I know zair is a question zat has been on your mind all night. I would answer zat, if you would permit?"

"Er, alright?" Harry replied.

Fleur leaned closer, and before Harry realized it was happening, her lips were on his. The kiss was soft and gentle, and her lips felt silky smooth. Harry savored the feeling as he gladly returned the kiss.

It only lasted for ten or fifteen seconds, though Harry was almost overcome with a feeling of euphoria. Fleur slowly leaned back, though there was a lingering smile on her face.

"Zat was pretty good," she said, her smile growing even larger. "To answer ze question, I don't zink you are too young for me. You are far more mature zan many men my age. And, you held my attention for ze entire night. Zat is worth something, I zink. I am open to ze possibility of a future date, if you wish to see if zair is anything to zis."

"That would be great," Harry replied. "I really enjoyed our time tonight, and I would be willing to see where this leads, as long as we don't get distracted from the Tournament."

Fleur smiled again. It was truly a nice, genuine smile. "I look forward to it. But, for now, I will wish a you a good night."

"Good night, Fleur," Harry replied, returning the smile. "I will see you tomorrow."


	16. Chapter 16

Fleur's kiss haunted him for many nights to come. Her velvet-like lips… the lingering smell of flowers… It had been a chaste kiss, as if Fleur hadn't been completely sure of herself, but that made it all the more special and distinctive in Harry's mind.

To date, that had still been the only kiss they had shared. Harry realized that Fleur had used it to say she was interested. Or, perhaps not even that. Interested in possibly pursuing something. Either way, neither one of them were rushing to do anything brash, and they both very much had the Triwizard Tournament on their minds.

Harry knew that as soon as he attempted to pursue the relationship from his end, Fleur would clam up. She was the type of girl that men would kill over, and would do nearly anything to gain her affection. That much was obvious to pretty much anyone who a pair of eyes - he still got a laugh whenever Ron's attempt to ask her to the Yule Ball was brought up. But, Harry didn't want to be one of those guys. He appreciated Fleur for who she was, and that was an intelligent, skilled, and beautiful witch, and in that order.

The whole thing had been quite amusing to Viktor Krum. They still had their Champion's lunches, as they liked to call them. Fleur paid more attention to him, and they held conversations that had nothing to do with the Tournament, but it had seemed like neither one of them were willing to make the next leap. At least not yet.

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that. They _had_ only gone to the Yule Ball as friends, and to expect more would be slightly disingenuous. He was more or less over Lavender Brown at this point, so he wasn't really hung up on that… but dating was so complicated. He had gotten his foot into the game, and now it seemed like every single thing he did now had to be done with careful consideration.

He just had to think back on why he and Lavender had broken up to begin with. She didn't want to be a distraction for Harry. And right now, Fleur was being quite a distraction. Harry wondered if she had done that on purpose, or if she was being distracted by thoughts of him as well.

Laughing to himself, Harry just couldn't see that as a possibility. There was no way a seventeen year old witch was daydreaming about a fourteen year old boy's lips. That just wasn't a thing that could happen, no matter how it played out in his dreams.

Truthfully, from a completely disconnected and scientific viewpoint, this kiss hadn't been that great. He and Lavender had developed into decently proficient kissers, and the one with Fleur hadn't been an expert kiss by any means. But, it was the feelings around the kiss that lingered… the emotions that it provoked…

The one thing Harry knew for sure was that if he really wanted to go through with a relationship, he would only have one chance to get it right. Fleur was three years older than him, and she wasn't going to be the one to pursue it. It was going to have to be him, and if he even so much as messed up slightly before it was a done deal, he'd lose the chance forever.

Sighing to himself, Harry realized that this was exactly what he didn't want to happen. He and Fleur were strictly friends for the time being. And, up until the moment that that changed, he really had to solve the clue for the Second Task. Harry had thought three months would have been plenty of time. But, in all that time, he and his friends had only figured out that it was some sort of language. There was detectable patterns and beats to the noise, and that if one listened carefully, there was a distinct cadence, but all attempts to solve it thus far had proven fruitless.

It was at times like these that their combined lack of experience really showed. It was not a clue that could be solved by just reading a book, and it was not for lack of trying. Harry realized that they were going to need a more experienced consultant. Normally, Harry would have gone to consult Sirius on the matter, but with a stroke of luck, the consultant happened to be a little closer to Hogwarts.

Ron and Hermione had been attending classes as normal, while Harry was skipping more and more in an attempt to figure out the clue. The real Professor Moody's classes were the only ones he regularly attended, and he was even contemplating skipping out on those. He was just waiting for some sort of epiphany.

Harry made it no secret that he was studying his egg. In fact, he went so far as to just bring it to the library with him when he was doing research. It made no sense to have to make extra trips from the library to his common room to pick up the egg every time he found a new spell to try. And, randomly checking out hundreds of books in an effort to stumble upon a helpful anecdote was unlikely to bear fruit.

While Harry rooted around the library, more than a handful of students came by with piqued interest. He was the Hogwarts Champion, and most of them were rooting for him. Some asked if he had figured out the clue yet (if he had, he wouldn't have been in the library), while others were more curious about Harry himself. He was a bit of a reclusive, and usually didn't spend much time in public areas. Strangely enough, not a single person asked if he needed any help.

That was true until the Weasley twins came by. They rarely ever did anything without an ulterior motive, nor could they ever be found without a smile on their face. Harry was instantly wary.

"You two look like you're up to no good," Harry said, eye the twins casually. He made sure to keep an eye on where their hands were as there was no telling what kind of confection they had cooked up.

"When are we ever?" Fred said with a grin.

"We couldn't help but notice the dilemma you are in," said George.

"And what dilemma is that?" Harry asked.

"That Dumbledore isn't nearly as corrupt as Karkaroff, and isn't going to help you with the task."

"How did you know about that?"

"The Tournament has a history of corruption," George replied with a shrug. "It's part of the tradition."

"Yes, well, I figured the dragons out by myself, though your brother Charlie being in town is what tipped me off."

"See, help comes in many forms," said Fred

"And what form is it going to come in today?" asked Harry. He had heard of the Tournament's history of corruption several times now, and was a bit annoyed by it.

"Why, us of course," they both said together. "We owe you a great deal of gratitude. We reckon we're over a quarter of the way to our goal. But, we can only hope to meet that goal if you win this whole thing, Harry. Everyone loves an underdog story, especially our pockets."

"So you want to help me because there's a profit to be made?"

"Not in so few words," Fred said. If anything, his grin grew even wider.

"You _are_ the Hogwarts Champion," said George. "So we would much rather see you win than that French girl, or Krum. If we just happen to make a few coins in the process, then so be it."

"So, what have you got so far?" asked Fred.

"Wait, who said I was agreeing to anything?" Harry retorted.

"Oh, are you going to tell us to leave?" asked George.

Harry sighed. "Fine. Well, the egg opens up and makes a bunch of noise. It seems like it's a song in some other language, but none of us have been able to identify it yet. Translating charms and sound altering charms seemed to have very little effect."

Fred and George were both nodding eagerly. "Well, it makes sense that the egg of a dragon, fake or not, would be as highly resistant to magic as the dragon itself. Plus, it wouldn't do to just have a Champion use a summoning charm on the egg in the First Task, now would it? No, magic on the egg itself is unlikely to work I think."

"Well, yeah," Harry said with a sigh. "That was the first thing we talked about. We decided that skirting the spirit of the rules with something that simple wouldn't likely earn me many points. So, do you have any ideas on how to figure out what the message is?"

"Translation charms are a bit gimmicky," George said. "We've researched them, but the person who creates the charm, or in our case, enchantment has to be fluent enough in the language for it to work."

Fred continued George's thought. "It's one of those niggling details with magic. Magic predates all of us, and all written and spoken language. There are different ways to express our magic and to control it, but you can't create something from nothing, and that includes knowledge."

"What about conjuration?" Harry asked. "That's creating something from nothing."

"No it's not. You can change something to have the look, feel, and even smell of something, which to most people, is the same thing as being real, but magic remembers what it truly is. A simple dispelling charm will revert it back to its true form. So, the true form of conjuration is simply nothing, or, perhaps, magic itself if you want to be obtuse."

"Anyways, to get back on topic, there's a reason people like Dumbledore and Crouch know over a hundred languages. I bet they could create a translation charm that would work for you."

"But they won't do that," Harry said.

"Right. So, we have to figure out what language it is."

"Yes, that's what I've been trying to do for the last three weeks."

"Yup. But now, you have us to help!"

"Go on, open the egg," Fred urged.

"What? Right here in the library?"

"You can put up some silencing spells first, if you want. A ten foot bubble should suffice."

Harry sighed, but complied. Ever since he began working with the egg, he'd gotten quite proficient with various silencing spells. Good enough that with his invisibility cloak, he can walked around in complete stealth. Unless he ran into someone like Moody or Dumbledore, who could see past it, of course.

"Ready?" Harry asked after he had set up half a dozen perimeter silencing charms.

"Go for it," they replied.

Harry opened the dragon egg and the screeching sound filled up the sound bubble instantly, nearly deafening them all. Even after having heard it a hundred times, listening to it never got any easier.

George made a gesture for Harry to close it, so he did. "It repeats after every minute and a half or so," Harry said after their ears stopped ringing.

"We know exactly what it is," Fred said.

"That we do. Wasn't even that hard to figure out. Though I reckon Lupin didn't go over them for third years."

"Go over what?" Harry asked anxiously. "If it's worse than dragons, I may scream."

"Not, the creatures themselves aren't worse than dragons. Well, maybe in a large enough village."

"Village?" Harry asked. "You're not talking about centaurs, are you?"

"Nope. Not unless centaurs live on the bottom of the lake," Fred said.

"Bottom of the lake…" Harry repeated. "Are you suggesting that that's a Merfolk's voice, and that there are Merfolk in the lake?"

"Correct on both accounts," George confirmed with a nod. "That took all of what, five seconds?"

"Do I want to know how you know about this?"

"It _is_ an interesting story," Fred said contemplatively.

"Sure is. You know those Canary Creams we've been sneaking around?" George asked. At Harry's nod he continued. "Well, we've been working on different variations. Some have worked better than others. Centaur Custard, Owl Omelette, Merfolk Mints. They're made to turn you into the creature, as well as sound like them."

"Merfolk sound bloody annoying when talking in normal air, let us assure you," Fred said. "We've decided to not use them, since they're more annoying than funny."

"So, what, I just need to eat one of them to become a Merman to understand what the egg is saying?"

"Did you not hear what we said earlier?" retorted George, shaking his head in exasperation. "Neither one of us know Mermish, so that wouldn't work. The Merfolk Mints just make you look and sound like a merfolk, that doesn't actually make you one. That would be dangerous, since they can only breathe underwater. It's not actual Mermish that you'll speak, but we had to research it to make a reasonable replication."

"Oh, I see," Harry said, looking slightly crestfallen.

"Fret not, our young friend, there is an easy solution!" Fred declared. George nodded eagerly.

"Oh, is there?" Harry asked, perking back up.

"Sure is. Merfolk live underwater. That means, you just have to listen to it underwater."

"Right… but how would that change anything? I still don't speak Mermish."

"The Merfolk in the lake speak English, just like the Centaurs and Goblins and House Elves. I reckon you take that thing into a bath with you, and you'll be able to understand it fine. One of the quirks of magic, I guess. Think of it like speaking English with an extremely heavy French accent - that's what Mermish is like when spoken above water, as well as any other language spoken by Merfolk."

"In fact, you should use the prefect's bathroom," Fred added. "It has a tub large enough to completely submerge both yourself and the egg. The Map should tell you the password."

"Right. I'll go do that," Harry said excitedly. "You guys have been a great help."

"No, Harry, you've been an even bigger help. More than you know. Now, just do us a favor and win the whole thing."

"I can't make that promise, but I can promise I'll do my best."

* * *

The twin's description of the prefects' bathroom had been completely understated. It was located on the fifth floor, and could, naturally, only be accessed by prefects as it was magically locked with a password. It could also be accessed by people who had a Marauder's Map, which had been Fred and George previously, and now Harry. And, with the Map, it was easy to figure out when it was in use and when it wasn't.

After watching the Map for a few days, it was obvious that the room was hardly used at all, as Harry had only seen a single prefect use it a single time. The problem was the location. It was centrally located to all of the common rooms, but seeing as it took something like fifteen minutes to go from the Gryffindor common room to the Slytherin one, having to walk for seven and a half minutes to use the prefects' loo or take a bath was a bit inconvenient. It was much easier to use the dorm washrooms like everyone else.

All that being said, the prefects' bathroom was bloody nice. The room was massive, there was no denying it. There were stone columns lining each wall, reminding him of ancient Greece or Rome, and the smooth diorite floors only reinforced that belief. There were facades carved into nearly every surface, and the massive swimming-pool sized tub gave the impression of a public bath from one of the ancient civilizations. It was quite a sight to behold.

The tub itself was spectacular, and it was not just its size. There were dozens of golden taps rimming the edge of it, and Harry immediately set out to testing them all. Some gave off different scented bubbles, while others poured out different colors of water, while another seemed to pour out nothing but solid foam. Harry cranked the heat up as hot as he dared before he tossed the egg into the bubbly pool.

The water felt heavenly. Aches and pains Harry hadn't realized he had began to dissipate. One of the faucets had induced a soothing potion into the waters as well, and that was helping quite a bit. Harry was letting out a content sigh before he was even in the water for a minute.

He'd have to thank the twins for the information on the room later. If they hadn't said anything, Harry would never have known that this room was special at all. Still, he didn't mess around for too long. After he swam several laps of the pool-sized tub, he settled down with the egg.

Deciding there was nothing for it, Harry dunked himself in the water, wand held steady as he opened up the egg. He was very careful to keep the hinged egg contraption away from his dangly bits. That sort of accident would be very hard to explain to Madam Pomfrey.

To his delight, instead of the customary shrieking sound that Harry had grown accustomed to hearing, the sound was indeed that of a song, in perfectly understandable and even pleasant sounding, English.

 _"Come seek us where our voices sound,_

 _We cannot sing above the ground,_

 _And while you're searching, ponder this:_

 _We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

 _An hour long you'll have to look,_

 _And to recover what we took,_

 _But past an hour- the prospect's black,_

 _Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."_

It took Harry several dives under the water to memorize the whole thing, but when he did, there was a sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach. There were merfolk in the lake, Harry knew that. Harry also knew that the task was in mid-February, and the winter in northern Scotland wasn't known for being warm. Heck, there was probably a foot of ice on the lake already. How was he expected to swim in _that_ for an hour?

It seemed like it was almost the exact opposite of the first task. Instead of having to worry about being burnt to a crisp by dragonfire, he'd have to worry about frostbite and turning into an ice cube.

He'd have an hour to recover something that was taken for him. He only had a few possessions he truly cherished, namely his photo-album of his parents, his invisibility cloak, and his broom. There was also Hedwig, but Harry scoffed at the idea that anyone could try and steal his owl and stuff her under a lake for an hour. That was preposterous.

Sighing, Harry realized that he'd have to recruit his friends once more, and they'd have to work overtime to figure out what he could do to get through this alive. Figuring out the egg clue hadn't been too hard once the path was shown, but actually _figuring it out_ would be too much for one person to do on their own.

* * *

"Tell me one more time…" Hermione said, a frown on her face.

"An hour long you'll have to look," Harry said. "That's it word for word. I have to survive under the lake for an hour."

"Well, presumably you could finish the task early." Hermione added.

"Ideally, yeah," Harry said. "In and out in five minutes would be great. But, you've seen how big the lake is, yeah? "

"Exploring the bottom could take well over an hour," Hermione replied. "There's so many variables in this. The lake is quite deep, it's going to be very cold, and you have to travel fast enough to make it to whatever it is you have to get to. And then you have to be able to defend yourself from whatever is in there."

"What _is_ in there, exactly?" Harry asked nervously.

"Well, aside from the Giant Squid, there's grindylows - "

"I hate those things," Ron interjected. Hermione stopped to shoot him a glare. "What? I do!"

"Grindylows, lobalugs, kelpies, fire-crabs, hippocampi, the merfolk themselves, a bunch of different magical fish, and whatever the Tournament officials add to the lake to make it more 'interesting'."

Harry grunted in acknowledgement. "That's a whole lot of stuff to worry about."

"Not really," Hermione said. "The same basic spells will repel most of them. Grindlylows are the most aggressive of them, and you learned how to fight them last year."

"I can't let them grab me," said Harry, nodding as he remembered Professor Lupin's classes from the year before. "I reckon stunning spells would be effective."

"Probably true for most of the creatures," Hermione agreed. "But, if you see a water dragon, just run. Or, swim, whatever."

"Sage advice," Ron said with a grin. "Swim away from a water dragon so it has to work for a meal."

"There's not going to be a water dragon," Harry said with a sigh. "I doubt the merfolk would take kindly to such an intruder."

"You're probably right. So, that leaves figuring out how to do everything else. Surviving the cold is the easiest part, I think. We can enchant a wetsuit with different charms. That shouldn't be hard at all. Breathing underwater for an hour… well… I suppose you could always summon an aqualung."

"They're pretty bulky," Harry said. "Even more so if I need enough air to survive for an hour. We can probably figure out how to do something similar with magic. I mean, this can't be the first time a wizard's had to travel underwater before, right?'

"Right. I - I just don't know of any. I've never come across anything like this in my studies."

"Wow," Ron said. "If Hermione has never read _anything_ about underwater travel, that means you're really screwed. No offense, mate."

"None taken," Harry replied dryly. "I guess we're going to have a long night in store for us. I wonder how long it will take to become a fish animagus?"


	17. Chapter 17

Harry stared at Fleur. Everyone stared at Fleur, but Harry was the one she returned a questioning eyebrow to. Mid-February and standing at the shore of the lake, there were a lot of things on Harry's mind, and currently, how hot Fleur looked in a wetsuit was the primary one.

Of course, Harry was wearing a wetsuit as well. It was enchanted with a warmth charm, a drying charm, and a defense charm that would make it hard to cut. But, he did not have large breasts like Fleur did, begging for release from their confines. In fact, he did not have breasts at all, nor did he have shapely legs and a taut ass.

It was those thoughts that kept him distracted from the task at hand. He wasn't as nervous as he had been against the dragon, but swimming in a freezing cold lake in winter wasn't on his list of things he'd like to do.

Ludo Bagman was announcing to the crowd what they were to expect for the task. The crowd itself was set up in a quickly made stadium seating around the lake. Floating in the air were three metallic ovals, which Bagman explained were "scrying portals" which would allow them to witness the events beneath the water.

The students themselves looked miserable. Even Fred and George who were collecting last minute bets in a frenzy, looked like they were freezing. Multiple warming charms and bulky robes were only so effective when it was below zero out. Harry spotted Hermione, but for the life of him, he could not see Ron anywhere. High up in the back of the stands, Harry would have sworn he saw Sirius's animagus form, but before he could take a longer look, there was a sound of a whistle and the other Champions were rushing out into the water.

Harry took one step into the water and almost immediately halted as the icy cold gripped his body, and that as through his enchanted wetsuit. It was not pleasant at all, but he forced himself to continue. He spared a second to see what Fleur and Viktor had planned, and he was a bit impressed. Fleur, in her wetsuit, seemed to have conjured up some sort of hippocamp to pull her through the water. Even more impressively, Viktor seemed to have transfigured _himself_ into a shark. Well, just part of his body at any rate - he kept his arms and legs.

Krum quickly pulled into the lead with his magic and was off into the deep waters before Harry was even halfway in. Harry lamented that perhaps he should have taken the idea of becoming a fish animagus a little bit more seriously. There were many issues to that plan however, and it had never been anything more than a joke.

Not the strongest of swimmers, Harry stood neck deep in the water, preparing his next series of spells. First was putting a bubble over his head. It was a spell found in one of their supplementary potions books that none of them except Hermione ever used, and to go with it was an air recycling charm. It wouldn't do to suffocate on potion fumes, nor would it be great to drown.

A second spell made the bubble itself harden, causing it to gain a glass-like sheen to it. With the spell, it would be a bit more durable underwater. A third spell, a leadfoot charm, made his boots heavy, counteracting his natural buoyancy and allowing him to walk on the ground even as the water went over his head.

The water was colder the farther and deeper in he went, but his wetsuit made it bearable, but only just. The last spell he had picked out for this adventure was a fairly basic one, but it wasn't covered in any standard textbook that he or any of his friends could find. There was no such thing as an "Introductory Guide to Underwater Exploration Using Magic", so they mostly had to improvise.

In preparation for the task, Harry had tied a piece of rope around his wand and looped it around his hand, so if he let go of his wand while swimming, it would merely float nearby instead of being lost forever. And, it also insured that when he used his travelling spell, it wouldn't kick out of his hand.

With careful aim, Harry pointed his wand out in front of him and said the magic words. The wand movement was quick, and the incantation even quicker. The effect, however, was quite jarring, and almost as wild as a portkey.

It was a climbing charm. There was almost no real use for it in the real world, as it was easy enough to just use a broom, rather than having to make due with what was essentially a magical pulley. But in a pinch, it could be quite useful. Even more so underwater. The magic shot out of his wand, hooked onto the ground several dozen feet away, and pulled him towards the spot.

The climbing charm was dangerous as well. After just one use, his wrist was sore, and without proper precautions, it wouldn't be too difficult to break a bone. It wasn't the fastest of spells either, but it was a heck of alot faster than swimming, especially considering that Harry had never learned how to properly swim. Sure, he could float along, flail around and propel himself inefficiently, but the Dursleys had never bothered with lessons, most likely hoping that he would one day drown.

Harry just hoped that today would not be that day.

Starting from the shore, there was only one real direction that Harry could travel in, and that was down and out. It was slow progress, but it could have been worse.

Two problems quickly made themselves known. First, was that it was getting darker the farther down he went. He couldn't use the climbing charm and a light spell at the same time. Secondly, was that the inside of his bubblehead charm was beginning to fog up, as were his glasses.

The second problem was easier to fix than the first. An impervious charm to the _inside_ of the bubble, and a second on his glasses, fixed the fogging problem right up. He'd used it before when playing Quidditch, and it would perform the same task now.

The first problem wasn't as easily solved. The first idea to come to Harry's mind was to have a second wand to use as a flashlight, but since he didn't have a second wand, that wasn't an option. He didn't even know if that would work regardless. So, he had to improvise.

Impervious charms seemed to be all the rage that day, so he started by taking a medium sized rock off the lake floor and transfiguring it into the rough shape of an old style railroad lantern. It was the most basic shape he could think of that he'd be able to do in a pinch, and it would serve. The Impervious charm would ensure that no water got in, which was especially important as he lit a fire inside the lantern, similar to what Hermione loved to make.

With light now pouring out of his quickly-made lantern, Harry pulled himself deeper into the lake. Ten minutes passed before he leveled out and had found the true bottom, which was nearly pitch black outside of his cone of light. Various water-dwelling plants floated up from the bottom, casting off strange shadows from in front of his lantern. Every so often, he'd swear he'd seen something floating in his peripheral vision, but every time he turned to look, he saw nothing. Every few seconds a murky bubble would emerge from the ground and pop near his face.

But there was definitely _something_ following him, even as his climbing charm jumped him ahead a couple dozen feet at a time. As Harry travelled though, he started to lose sense of time. The ground was rocky and monotonous, and the silhouettes of the vegetation did not help, especially considering that he hadn't seen or heard any sign of a supposed merfolk village. His hearing wasn't great however, through his magic bubble. It was muddled, and the only real sound he heard was the sound of water rushing around the edge of the bubble as he whipped himself through the water.

Ten or fifteen minutes passed before he saw the first signs of life, though it was not what Harry had been expected. Harry had taken a few seconds to pause and gain his bearings when something had jumped onto his back. He tried to shuck it off by twisting, but being underwater and with weight-charmed shoes, his mobility wasn't very high.

With his wand, Harry vaguely pointed it as his back, but before he could think of a spell that would hurt the creature and not himself, he felt the wand get ripped out of his hand. The string lanyard on his wrist prevented him from losing it completely, but for a second, he was vulnerable.

A second creature came at him from the front, and Harry finally recognized what he was up against. It was a pale green creature, though in the light of the lantern, it looked brown. It had two little horns, and spindly little fingers that were stronger than they looked. Harry knew better than to let a grindylow get anywhere near him, but the one on his back was currently trying to get at his neck.

As quickly as Harry could, he regained control of his wand and immediately cast another climbing charm, pulling him away from the second grindylow, but the first one clung tightly to his back. He could feel the little water demon's teeth trying to punch through his wetsuit, but the protective enchantment was holding.

Harry spun around, trying to get a clear shot at the Grindylow, but it was too small and very clingy. At least his bubblehead charm was preventing it from getting his ears or eyes, but feeling its slimy little hands clawing at him was not the best feeling in the world.

With vindication, Harry pointed the wand behind himself and cast a hurling hex. It hit, peeling the creature off despite its physical protests. Harry turned around as quickly as he could, given the situation, and sent of a stunning charm, hitting the Grindylow center mass. Instead of a red beam as he had been accustomed to, there had been an awful lot of superheated bubbles, but the charm seemed to have worked regardless.

Sighing to himself at the close call, Harry tried to get his bearings. The problem was that he had lost his orientation, and no longer knew what direction he was going on. Precious minutes would be wasted if he accidently went back the way he came, and he didn't have minutes to waste.

Deep, calming breaths, Harry told himself. He stood still for a minute, watching the murky bubbles float out from the ground, and the plants wavering in an invisible wind. Concentrating on his surroundings, Harry noticed two things. Firstly, was that despite appearances, the ground was still sloping down slightly. And second, it was not quite as dark in that same direction. It could have been his eyes playing tricks on him, but he didn't have many other options available.

Deciding that he had wasted enough time, and realizing that he would only have one chance at getting it right, Harry leaped in the direction that seemed to be getting lighter. It wasn't so light that he didn't need his lantern, but after a few minutes, he knew his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him.

But why was the water getting lighter as he went deeper? That made no sense to Harry, unless there was magic involved somehow. Aside from the pair of Grindylows, only one of which he had dispatched, and a writhing plant that looked like a gaping maw which Harry had deftly avoided, there had been very little in the way of obstacles.

With his line of sight slowly increasing as the ambient light steadily got brighter, Harry made his way deeper into the lake. By now, he was getting quite tired, and it felt like he had travelled _miles_ underwater. Whether or not that was true, Harry did not know, but he did know that it was all too easy to lose all sense of direction while under water. The whole adventure had been extremely disorientating so far.

Just as he thought he could maybe make out something in the distance, there was a disturbance from behind him. A large shadowed beast darted into his peripheral vision, and he heard the whoosh of water as something large rushed by.

Harry turned around just barely fast enough to not get disemboweled, and to catch a glimpse of what just tried to attack him. On first glance, Harry would say it looked like a stingray. But, as he stared at it, he realized just how long it was. It was vaguely arrow shaped, and extremely boney, almost like an eel. On its face was a long vicious looking horn, one that Harry had an inkling would easily pierce through his enchanted wetsuit. Perhaps the scariest part were the tentacle-like things that trailed below it. They were skinny and vine-like, and the ends dragged on the bottom of the ground. But, the ends contained bone-like protrusions that looked to be in the shape of scythe. There were ten or twelve of them, and Harry did not want to be anywhere near them.

The beast, which Harry did not recognize at all, was dead set on marking Harry as prey. It dashed forward once more, attempting to spear Harry with its sharp nose, and if it missed, it would likely catch Harry on it's vine-scythes as it passed by. It was very quick, and the only thing Harry could to do dodge was to use the same climbing spell that he had been using. With a jerk, he managed to land around twenty feet out of the way, but the beast was quickly on him again.

It was far faster than Harry was, which surprised him. It was obvious that he would not be able to simply escape, and he knew he'd have to drive the beast off somehow. He did not know what it was, or if it had any weakness, and lack of knowledge could easily get him killed. He noted that the main body, as bonelike as it was, was probably fairly protected. But the vine-like scythes were not.

The beast charged again, and again, Harry spelled himself out of the way. If he had known how to apparate, this battle would have been trivial, but as he didn't, he had to tread very carefully. Though, Hermione would likely lecture him on how it was impossible to apparate underwater, or that the lake was still on Hogwarts grounds and spelled against it.

After the fourth or fifth lightning-quick attack, Harry was starting to get a feeling for the attack pattern, and was able to find a window in which he could counter attack. Once more, he dodged the attack, but with a quick flare of his wand, he sent a cutting curse at the nearest vine-scythes. He was quite satisfied when two of them popped off and fell to the ground, but that only seemed to make the beast more enraged.

Harry would not give up so easily. He had come this far, and he would not fall prey to some bone-nosed, vine-scythed, snake jelly fish thing. But, he did vow to learn the actual name of it after he killed the bloody thing.

Despite the fish's frenzy, Harry was quite precise with his cutting spells. After another minute of dodging the thing's charge, Harry merely stepped off to the side and let the appendages brush by him, sliding off his wetsuit and not harming him at all. As the fish sailed on by, he aimed at blasting curse at the under belly, and watched in satisfaction as it spasmed in agony.

The spell didn't kill the beast, but it got the hint and promptly swam off, leaving a large trail of blood in its wake. If it hadn't been for the pressure of the time-limit, Harry may have given chase. As a rule, he wasn't pleased when things tried to kill him. He'd killed his possessed Defense professor when he was eleven, and a thousand year old basilisk when he was twelve, so the prospect of killing this beast before it killed him wasn't that daunting. Still, he'd prefer if he did not have to.

Harry took a few second to be sure the beast wasn't coming back. He stared off in the distance, watching for any sign of it, or anything else, coming after him. That was when he noticed the blood that was still dispersing around him, and he realized he had to leave, now.

As soon as Harry had that thought, another dark shape came out of the darkness. Once more, he dodged off to the side, only to belatedly realize that that the new monster wasn't attacking him. It was Viktor Krum, half transfigured into a shark, and he was _fast_.

Viktor Krum barely slowed down as the bloody water washed over him, sparing only a second to glance once in Harry's direction before barrelling off again. Harry had no clue how he had gotten in front of Krum, but he reckoned that Krum must have gone in the wrong direction to start.

The only thing that Harry could do was follow Krum, knowing that Krum was likely to reach the destination before Harry would. It was with grim determination that Harry steeled his resolve and jumped himself forward, twenty or thirty feet at a time.

By the time he saw the first signs of settlement, Harry was both relieved, and anxious. He was deathly worried that he would be too late. Walking into the merfolk village, he was astonished at what he saw. With the sound of merfolk singing in the background, he knew he had found the right place, but the place itself was so startling to behold.

There were merfolk houses which were built out of stone like any normal house would be. Some of them had fences to denote property lines, while a few seemed even more normal, going so far as to have tamed grindylow tied off to a post, as if they were a domestic pet like a dog.

Even more bewildering were the people. Or, rather, the merfolk. There looked to be a family gathering at one house, sitting for a meal, while another merman worked in a field, tilling the lake's bottom. It was odd, watching that.

Harry followed the street towards the center of the village, where he imagined he'd see the end of the task. He could hear merfolk singing the same song as the clue, so he knew he was nearing the end.

Lining the cobblestone street were luminescent lamps which looked to be filled with some odd liquid, giving off enough light for him to see without his lantern. Also, patrolling the streets were dozens of mermen guardians, each wielding a trident or bident, ensuring that Harry did not stray from the path.

Approaching the center of the village, Harry immediately spotted his goal. There were three posts set up, and each held, or used to, the object that Harry would "sorely miss". One of the posts was empty, indicated that Viktor Krum, in his shark form, had already been there.

In retrospect, it should have been obvious. The tournament officials weren't going to tie up his Firebolt or take his invisibility cloak - that would have been stupid and materialistic. It should have been obvious that it would be one of his friends. He had not seen Ron at breakfast, nor had he seen him in the stands, watching the task. And there he was, tied up to the post, slightly bobbing up and down in the light current.

Next to Ron was another person, a young girl, no older than eight. With her complexion and silvery-blonde hair, it was obvious that she was some relation to Fleur, probably the sister that she had mentioned. That meant that the French Champion had not yet been there.

That worried Harry. He was under no illusion that he had gotten to the village quickly, and was quite likely beyond the time limit. Approaching the hostages carefully, he noted the small stream of bubbles that steadily came from their noses - that was good. That meant they were not dead. Some sort of charm, some sort of enchanted sleep? Harry wasn't sure. He just knew that it would probably be bad if Harry broke the charm while they was several hundred feet beneath the surface of the lake.

Taking a look at the single empty post, which Harry realized probably once held Viktor's girlfriend, Irena, he came to a decision. Fleur was not coming, he reckoned. She knew far more magic than he did, and a few weeks of studying magic would not catch him up to the levels of being able to transfigure himself into a shark. Harry had been outmatched in this task, but her hostage was still there.

Harry did not know what would happen after time ran out, if it hadn't already, but he did not want to chance it. He had seen too many things go wrong with magic over the few years he'd been at Hogwarts. His decision hadn't even been much of a choice in his mind.

Casting a wary glance at the armed merfolk guardsman who were watching Harry with interest, he burst into action. With a well-placed cutting curse, Harry severed the rope from the post and grabbed Ron by the scruff of his collar. Then, quickly before the merfolk could react, he did the same the the young girl.

The guards charged him instantly, shouting at him in broken English that she was not his hostage to save. Harry had always had a reckless streak and he saw no reason to stop the tradition. So, with a flick of his wand, he reversed the leadfoot charm that had been on his boots, and with the aid of the bubble of air around his head, the buoyancy kicked in immediately and he floated to the surface in a hurry.

The merfolk floated up after him, but they did not seem to be making any attempt to harm Harry directly. Ron and the girl were heavy, and his arms were terribly sore, but even as he floated up what seemed to be five hundred feet, he didn't dare let go.

Eventually, Harry's head broke the surface. Well, the dome of his bubble charm did first. With a heave, he fished Ron and the girl up as well. As soon as their heads his the air, they both snapped awake instantly and began to sputter.

Dispelling the bubble charm, Harry tread water while he turned to them. "Relax, we need to get to shore," he said. Ron seemed to gain his bearings back the quickest, and he helped Harry tug the girl to shore.

They weren't too far from shore and it only took a few minutes to get there. The distance Harry had to swim to get back and the distance he had covered on the lake bottom did not seem to add up, but he was beyond caring at this point.

On the shore and being tended to the various officials, Harry spotted both Viktor and Irena, and he also spotted Fleur clutching a blood-stained towel while Madam Pomfrey fussed over her. The crowd itself seemed to be cheering his name as Dumbledore reached down to personally pull Harry out of the water.

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye. "Please, take a seat and get dried off. The judges will begin scoring momentarily."

Dazed, Harry nodded his head and sat down. Ron sat down next to him, though he looked no worse for the wear. He spoke up first.

"You didn't have to save her," Ron said. "The girl. We were never in any danger."

"I figured as much," Harry said with a sigh. "I'd rather be safe than sorry, you know? It wasn't worth the risk."

Ron nodded his head thoughtfully as he began to dry himself. Before Harry could to the same, Fleur was standing right in front of him.

"You 'ave saved my sister," she said wearily. "Even zough she was not your 'ostage."

"Anyone else would have done the same," Harry replied.

"But, you're not anyone else," Fleur replied. Suddenly, her hands were on the sides of his face, and her lips were on his, and he was embraced in the deepest, most passionate kiss he had ever had.

Harry wrapped his hands around her slender waist and mashed their bodies together as he returned the kiss as fiercely as he could. She tasted of grimy water, and slightly of blood, but Harry had no doubts that he was in no better condition. Her tongue was hesitant at first, as if she was unsure of what she was doing, but Harry was readily willing to receive it.

It was slightly amusing, to Harry, that the French witch did not at all seem well-practiced in the art of the French Kiss. Not inexperienced by any means, but a bit rusty perhaps. Harry, at fourteen, should not have been better at it than her, but apparently his time with Lavender had given him a leg up, and quickly enough, Fleur was falling into his embrace.

There was a coughing sound from behind him, and Harry only just then began to hear the cat-calls and whistles from the stands. That kiss could have lasted a minute, five minutes, or five hours, Harry wasn't sure, but he knew he wanted it to last for eternity.

"Blimey mate…" said Ron, dumbstruck at what he just witnessed.

Harry turned to Dumbledore, who looked on in amusement. "The judges have finished discussing the task and would now like to give their scores!" he announced to the crowd.

Harry took a moment to note the scene. There was a merfolk floating in the water near the other judges, and Dumbledore was staring off into the crowd. The scrying sheets that hung in the air were no longer active, and all the students were now paying full attention to them.

"For Fleur Delacour, for her valiant, yet ultimately unsuccessful attempt at rescuing her sister, we award her twenty five points!"

"I deserve nothing," Fleur said with a sob. Harry pulled her closer, though he was careful in using his wand hand - it was quite sore, and he knew that it would probably be black and blue before the night was done.

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore continued. "For bravely rescuing two hostages using a mixture of ingenious charms... he, however, finished outside the time limit and we award him forty points!"

Harry sighed with relief. Forty was still a lot of points, and apparently, the Hogwarts students thought so as well and cheered him loudly.

"Viktor Krum, with his partial shark transfiguration, was the first to return with his hostage, we award him forty-seven points!"

The students cheered even louder and and the Durmstrang students in particular began stomping their feet on the stands with excitement. Harry clapped politely. "I'm not surprised," he said to Ron. "He made it there faster than me, and his spell was much more impressive than mine."

"You're still in second place," Ron said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Not too far behind either. The third task is the one that really matters anyway, isn't it? You'll just have to give him hell."


	18. Chapter 18

"So, you're telling me that you beat Ron in Rock-Paper-Scissors, and that's why he was my hostage?" Harry asked for clarification again.

Hermione huffed and sighed, rolling her eyes for the millionth time. "I told you already. McGonagall called both of us to her office that morning, and explained to us what was happening. McGonagall wasn't going to make you choose which one of us you'd miss most, so we did best two out of three. I won, so that meant Ron was going to be your hostage."

"Not that I wasn't willing," Ron quickly clarified. "I knew what was at stake, and McGonagall told me that I would be in no actual danger."

"You didn't see Krum transfigure himself into a shark, teeth and all," Harry replied offhandedly. "Looked pretty dangerous to me."

"Must have looked a tad sight better than he did at the World Cup," Ron said with a grin. "Remember that bludger he took to the face?"

"I'm not likely to forget that any time soon," said Harry, laughing.

"So, let's talk about the elephant in the room," said Hermione.

"What elephant?" asked Ron, looking around. "Have my brothers been giving out those candies again?"

"It's just a saying," Hermione said with exasperation. "Beating around the bush… ignoring the obvious."

"Ah, I get it." Ron nodded.

"You and Fleur," Hermione stated, looking pointedly at Harry.

"What about us?" Harry said. "I'm not even sure there is an 'us'."

"That was some kiss," Ron said. "Heck, if I had known that was going to happen, I would have encouraged you to rescue every single hostage. Blimey."

"It's not right," Hermione said. "She's what, three years older than you? She's probably used to dating men her own age, or older. She has loads of more experience dating than you do."

Harry shook his head. "That's not the feeling I've gathered. Who she actually is, and who people think she is, are two entirely different things - just like me. I find myself adept at recognizing the signs."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"She wasn't as good as a kisser as you'd expect," Harry said. "Not a novice, no, but inexperienced? Or maybe just out of practice? Lavender and I were better after a week. I don't think Fleur has as much dating experience as you'd think, and she's not very sure if she wants to take this anywhere. It's not that she's unsure of that, she's just unsure _how_ to do it."

"I'm not sure if I believe that," said Hermione. "That kiss she gave you, in front of the entire school, seemed more than just an _unsure_ kiss. More than just a 'thank-you-for-saving-my-sister-who-was-never-in-any-real-danger' kiss."

"You're right," Harry said. "That wasn't our first kiss though. That was the Yule Ball - I think then she was trying to figure out if there was any potential, and the most recent kiss is probably the answer to it. I'm not sure - I won't pretend to know how a woman thinks, but I can tell she just doesn't want to rush headfirst into a relationship that won't go anywhere."

"And it won't go anywhere, will it?" said Hermione. "After the tournament is over, you'll be back at the Dursley's with _three_ more years left at Hogwarts, while Fleur will be out of school, looking to make a career of something."

"You're thinking way farther ahead than I am," Harry pointed out.

"I can tell," Hermione retorted. "Your thinking about nothing other than that kiss."

"And her arse, probably," Ron added helpfully.

"It is magnificent, isn't it?" Harry said wistfully.

"You must be the luckiest person in the entire world," Ron replied. "Having a super hot, older, French part-veela chasing after _you_."

"She's not exactly chasing me," Harry said with a shrug. "But, I am hesitant to pursue it, for all the reasons Hermione mentioned. Fleur is too… special, for it to just be a brief thing, and that's not really my style either."

"What do you call what you and Lavender had then?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged again. "We both went into it trying to figure out what dating was like, that was all. It was a learning experience, if you want to call it as such. Plus, there was always the chance that something lasting was the result. We're still pretty good friends - better than we were at the start of the year. But I don't think either one of us were under the illusion that it was going to last for any significant amount of time."

"And Fleur?" Hermione asked. "There's only a handful of months left before you'll likely never see her again. And, if I recall, Lavender broke up with you because she didn't want you to be distracted for the tournament."

"And, as I recall, Fleur and I are not dating, so therefore, I am not distracted."

"Mate, you're definitely distracted. Heck, I'm distracted right now, by you being distracted, and she bloody well laughed at me when I asked her to the Yule Ball."

"Right, maybe I am a bit distracted," Harry admitted. "But, can you blame me? Plus, the Third Task will be announced ahead of time - no puzzle to figure out, no dragons to stumble upon in the woods."

"You're missing what I'm trying to say," said Hermione. "You _are_ being distracted by this. The solution, obviously, is to stop fretting over it. Ask her out, that way, you can stop worrying about what-ifs, and could-have-beens. The worst thing that can happen is you having to live with regret from not trying."

"So, you go from telling me that there's no chance of it working out, to telling me that I should try anyways?"

"That's right," Hermione agreed.

Harry made a noncommittal noise. Ron and Hermione had nearly non-existent dating experience. Admittedly, Harry's wasn't much higher, but they hadn't gone through what he had. But, they were his friends, and he valued their thoughts.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk," Harry said. Ron and Hermione looked like they wanted to say something, but Harry quickly added, "Alone."

Time alone seemed to be few and far between, these days. His extra-curricular practice with Ron and Hermione hadn't been as time consuming or as often as it had been at the beginning of the year, but they still ended up throwing spells around more often these days than playing chess. And then there were the lunches with Viktor and Fleur. A dozen or more by now, Harry wasn't sure the exact number. Sometimes he'd pay, sometimes Viktor, sometimes Fleur. Very little was actually talked about at these lunches, never anything serious, and they mostly just used them to get away from the world. Harry enjoyed them quite a bit, especially after the Yule Ball, though they mostly joked about that night rather than talk about it seriously.

Harry wasn't sure where he was walking, but he didn't have time to contemplate that when he felt two pairs of arms wrap around his shoulders. That could only mean the Weasley twins, and sure enough, Fred was on his left, George on the right. It happened quite often this year, and Harry had almost come to expect it.

"What can I do for you guys?" Harry asked curiously. "You're not going to punish me for coming in second, are you?"

"On the contrary," they said together. "We want to thank you."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed," George said. "The uncertainty of the final task makes it more interesting."

"It means that there is no clear-cut frontrunner. It would be boring if you just dominated the first two tasks - everyone would just bet on you for the final, and that doesn't lead to good business."

"I see," Harry replied. "Well, I do plan on winning the third task at any cost, keep that in mind."

"Do you know what it is?" George asked. "A little insider info goes a long way."

"Nope. The judges will tell us exactly what we will be facing a month before the task itself," Harry said. He felt like he'd explained this half a dozen times now, but whatever.

"Hm, that can't be good, can it?"

"They made you go in blind to fight a dragon, and yet this time, they're giving you a month to prepare."

"It should be interesting," Harry agreed. "Now, if you two don't mind, I think I'm going to go see Dumbledore."

The twins mockingly bowed and disappeared off into the night, probably to go prank some third years. Harry hadn't planned to visit Dumbledore, not originally, but they hadn't really talked since the night he saw Rita Skeeter in a terrarium, so he figured now was as good of a time as any.

The password was unchanged from the last time he had looked at the Marauder's Map, and as Harry walked up the spiral stairs to the headmaster's office, he could hear the light sound of music drifting down. It was a classical piece, something that Harry didn't have a hope of identifying. He could name two composers off the top of his head, and if he thought about it for a few minutes, he could maybe name a couple more, but he was pretty much as unlearned as it came in that regard.

Knocking once, Harry heard Dumbledore call out immediately. "Come in, please, come in,"

Opening the door, Harry noticed Dumbledore was reclining in his seat at his desk, hands steepled in front of him and staring out of the window as he listened to the music. Noticing Harry, he paused the ancient record player in the corner of the room with a casual flick of his wand.

"Ah, music… a magic few can barely comprehend."

"I can agree with that," Harry said.

"Please, take a seat," Dumbledore replied. "Lemon drop?"

"I don't want to disturb you - it's nothing important," Harry said, taking a seat but declining the candy.

"Nonsense," said Dumbledore. "You're here now, and that is important."

"Sir?"

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop in his mouth as he contemplated Harry. "I must congratulate you once again for another job well done. Your performance in the Second Task was quite impressive. I take it you were able to solve the riddle?"

"Yeah, I used the tub in the prefect's bathroom after figuring out it was a merfolk's speech."

Dumbledore nodded his head. "Ingenious, really. Language, like music, is a magic all of its own. Do you know why all of our spells are in Latin, or variations of Latin?"

"I've always assumed that it was to make communication between foreign wizards easier if there is a common language involved."

"That is partially true," Dumbledore said with a grandfatherly smile. The headmaster took a second to lean forward and give Harry his full attention. "However, Latin isn't the language we share. _Magic_ is the language we share. There are a dozen ways to cast a stunning charm in a dozen different languages. Yet the French, and the Germans, and many others besides, all use the Latin incantation, rather than native versions. Why is that?"

"Er, I'm not sure," Harry said. "I've never given that too much thought."

"A curious thing, time, isn't it..." Dumbledore said, clutching at a silvery pocket watch. "We hold onto the last vestiges of culture and traditions that we can, while the world around threatens to consume us. We've attended the same school for a thousand years, eaten at the same thousand year old tables, and taught the same thousand year old spells."

"I'm not sure I follow," said Harry, frowning.

"The Roman Empire stretched for thousands of miles, lasted for thousands of years, still existed when this great school was founded… Yet they were not the ones to invent many of the spells we use. Humanity's existence began long before the Roman empire, and yet, the fact that we exist at all is a magic in of itself. Magic is not bound by mere tradition - it's an excuse."

"You don't know the answer, do you sir?" Harry asked, grinning slightly.

"On the contrary. We use Latin incantations merely because we can, because it's convenient, and because that's what we were taught. We wizards are, if nothing else, stuck in our ways. Wisemen indeed."

Harry snorted.

"Now, enough about an old man's musings. What brings you here today?"

"I was just curious if there's been any progress…" Harry said slowly.

"I see," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "Rita Skeeter has made some progress, but mostly it is a confirmation of the worst case scenario - none of my suspects have had anything to do with what transpired earlier in the year. In fact, some of them appear nervous. What we've gathered is that at the World Cup, they were having what they would consider, fun, by tormenting those poor muggles. When Barty Crouch Jr. set up the Dark Mark, they got scared and ran. As far as they know, none of their own set it off, and none of them are aware that Barty Jr. was still alive at the time."

"That's disquieting," Harry admitted. "What about Barty himself? Do we know how he was trying to accomplish his goal?"

"We have not located any outside base of operations, and any new signs as to where Voldemort's wraith is hiding are still unknown to us. As for how Barty Jr hoped to accomplish this… I still don't know. But, I did discover that he had tried to tamper with the Goblet of Fire - a Confundus Charm has been placed on it…"

"What does that mean?" Harry asked. "Are you suggesting that he made it so my name would come out?"

"The timing is odd, I will admit," Dumbledore said. "Moody had been the one during the summer to suggest no age limit and that true skill will carry the day - this was the real Alastor Moody, mind you - we traced back the day of the swap to the first day of school. The original plan had been to restrict competitors to ages seventeen and up, those of age, as it were."

"That doesn't answer the question," Harry pointed out.

"It is difficult to say one way or another," Dumbledore replied. "I am just putting it into perspective. For example, Professor Snape visited me that night, and ranted about you, as he often does. Of all the fourth years to get picked, it was you. He went off on a tangent, saying how one of his students is both better in classes and has a flawless disciplinary record and submitted her name, yet was not chosen. I, of course, pointed out that those may be the very reasons the Goblet of Fire did _not_ choose her. But getting back to your question, can you honestly think anyone in this school is more deserving of being our representative - you who had rescued the Philosopher's Stone in your first year, defeated a Basilisk and saved your best friend's sister in your second, and fought off a pack of Dementors and saved your godfather from a fate worse than death? Who else amongst your peers can claim even half of that? No, Harry, I am quite confident you got chosen completely on your own merits. And thus far, I believe you have performed admirably."

"Krum beat me fair and square in the second task," Harry said with a sigh. "He just outright knew better magic than me."

"That may be true," Dumbledore admitted. "It is true, that with a deadline, you may have to prioritize certain types of magic over others. That does not mean that you cannot learn them with enough practice. For example, it has recently come to my attention that your godfather became an animagus during his fifth year - that is an impressive feat. You have shown yourself able to learn magics far more complex than your age would suggest - the Patronus Charm is proof enough of that. I think that if you wish to pursue in his footsteps, you would find it not outside of your reach. Of course, I would prefer if you would practice it safely with Professor McGonagall…"

"Perhaps next year, when all of this is over," Harry said, mulling the idea around. "Sir, last time we talked, you said you never tried to become one, but you never said you hadn't given it any thought. You were the Transfiguration professor here at one point, so it doesn't seem like it would have been too hard for you."

"Once upon a time, I may have given it a thought or two," Dumbledore replied, steepling his fingers. "I was very ambitious when I was younger, but despite my modest skills with transfiguration, I decided it was not worth the time. It takes a person with a certain type of disposition, and it is rare for someone to acquire a form that is useful enough to outweigh the effort needed to learn it. Professor McGonagall, for example, can turn into a cat - a form, while cute, has very limited uses beyond what could be accomplished with normal magic. Lord Voldemort never acquired the ability either, as far as I know."

"I see…" said Harry, contemplating the new information He didn't say anything else for a few minutes, instead opting to watch a few of the trinkets on a shelf whirl about.

"There's something else on your mind, isn't there?" Dumbledore said, giving Harry a knowing look.

"I'm looking for advice…" Harry said slowly, trying to chose his words carefully.

Dumbledore nodded his head thoughtfully, urging Harry to continue.

"There's this girl…well, woman is more like it. I feel like there could be something there, but I think we're both afraid to explore it, since once the year is over, I'll likely never see her again. Yet, I don't want to go into next year with regrets…"

"Fleur Delacour," Dumbledore replied.

"Yes," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I guess it's not that big of a mystery."

"Indeed not," Dumbledore said. His eyes were sparkling quite fiercely in amusement.

"I'm just not sure what to do."

"Ah, to be young again," Dumbledore replied wistfully. "Have you tried talking to her?"

"I will, eventually," Harry said. "I'm just trying to figure out _what_ to say. She's a couple years older than me, has more schooling and different interests, is far better looking than me… and lives in France and is likely to have a career doing whatever she wants within a couple months... We just don't have enough in common I think, for anything serious to come of it."

Dumbledore made the appropriate "mmm-hmm" noises while Harry talking and nodded his head at all the right parts. "It's been a long time since I've had to deal with a relationship of any sort," Dumbledore replied. "But, I am very good at looking at something objectively. I think, perhaps in this instance, that you two may have more in common than you think. You are both in the Tournament for very much the same reason - you both think you have something to prove. You have been famous in the Wizarding World for nearly as long as you have been alive, for events you cannot recall, and you want to be known for more than your parents' sacrifice. Miss Delacour wants to be known for more than her appearance and quarter-Veela heritage. She's intelligent, cunning, and skilled, yet no one can see beyond her outer appearance, and thus, she wants to prove to everyone that there is more to her than that. Am I correct so far?"

"Yes, that sounds fair," Harry said. Dumbledore was quite accurate with his assessment.

"Viktor Krum is in the tournament for much the same reasons as well, as I'm sure you realize," said Dumbledore. "He's best known as a prodigious professional Quidditch player, and wants to prove that he is as skilled with a wand as he is a broom. All of you have admirable goals."

"Er, thanks?" Harry replied.

"As I said before, it's been a long time since I've had to worry about relationship woes. All I can say is that you should talk to her about this. Perhaps you both are having the same thoughts, and together, you can work through them. The whole purpose of this tournament is to promote international relations, and nothing would speak more to that than two champions dating."

Harry let out a sigh, realizing that the old Headmaster didn't really have much advice to give him. Tiredly, Harry gave his thanks and left, ready to confront Fleur.

* * *

It took awhile to find Fleur. Harry had eventually relented and gone back to his dorm to collect the Marauder's Map. He tried to not carry it around with him if at all possible, as it would be very hard to explain to someone like Snape, who had already caught him once the previous year with the ratty-looking paper.

The French Champion was down at the Quidditch pitch. That was surprising, as Harry remembered Fleur distinctly telling him that she didn't like to fly. That wasn't the same as watching, however, and there looked to be some sort of game was going on. It was hard to tell just by looking at dots on the Marauder's map. People flying around wasn't uncommon.

Rather than speculating, Harry decided to just look for himself. Winter was still going on in full force, so it was still quite cold outside. That had never stopped anyone from playing Quidditch before, and wouldn't stop anyone now. If people in Scotland decided against playing Quidditch whenever the weather was unfavorable, they would only get the chance to play a half-dozen games per year.

Surprisingly, Fleur _was_ there, and there _was_ a game going on. At first glance, it was five-a-side with four chasers and a keeper on each team. There was a mix of students and Harry noticed that a pair of Durmstrang boys and a single Beauxbatons girl were amongst them.

Harry leaned up against the rail, next to Fleur, and just stood there for a moment before tapping the older witch on the arm.

Glancing sideways at him, Fleur said, "'Ello, 'Arry."

"Hey, Fleur, " Harry replied. "I think we should talk."

Fleur gave him more of her attention. "Oh? About what?'

"About how I've been thinking about that kiss all day long," Harry told Fleur. The French witch raised one immaculately trimmed eyebrow.

"Really?" she asked, looking nonplussed.

"Yeah. I couldn't help but notice that you seemed out of practice. Furthermore, I would be more than willing to help you practice."

Fleur rolled her eyes, and the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. "Is zat so?"

Harry nodded his head. "Yup."

"Zat's ze lamest come-on I 'ave ever 'eard," she declared.

"Even lamer than that giant yellow rose I gave you at the Yule Ball?" Harry asked. "That was the lamest thing I could think of at the time."

"Hmm, perhaps it was not quite as lame as zat," she said thoughtfully, holding a finger up to her lips in a contemplative gesture.

"I want to be serious for just a second," Harry replied, making eye contact with her. "I know a relationship between us would be complicated, what with the age difference, you living in France, and the Tournament going on. But, I like you. You're intelligent and witty, and I like being around you. I guess I'm asking if you want to be more than just friends."

Fleur stared at Harry long and hard, chewing her lips anxiously. "I like you a lot as well," she said. "But, it's complicated. Zair are expectations and perceptions of me… I'm sure you know… zey are difficult to overcome. Truthfully, I don't date. I've tried a few times, but zey never go smoothly. Men try to get touchy, or assume zat since I am part-veela and beautiful, I will just do whatever zey want…"

"I'm not like other men," Harry pointed out. "I've never once treated you with anything but the utmost respect."

"I know zat," Fleur said. "Zat is why we are even 'aving zis conversation. I don't date because I find zat zair is an extreme lack of interesting men. Men who can 'ave a conversation wiz me without staring lustily at my chest, or thinking what it would be like to bed me…But you _are_ different. You _are_ interesting..."

"Are you saying you are willing to give it a try?" Harry asked cautiously. "I don't want to lie in bed at night for the rest of year bemoaning missed cues and contemplating what could have been…"

Fleur stared at him for a second longer before she suddenly leaned forward and planted a kiss right on his lips, lingering for several seconds before slowly disengaging. "Does that answer your question?"

Harry gulped and licked his lips. "Not entirely. Perhaps you can try and clarify..."

Fleur smiled and leaned forward again. Harry, this time, snaked an arm around her slender form, pulling her close. He was grateful that he was going through a growth spurt and was more-or-less the same height as her now. He captured her lips with his own, tasting the bliss of the moment and savoring the euphoria. How could such an exquisite girl be interested in him?

Still smiling, Fleur pulled back from the kiss. "Does zat answer your question?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harry responded. That kiss had been _much_ better than the previous ones. "But there are still concerns."

"Let's just take it day by day, okay?" Fleur said quickly, holding a finger up to Harry's lips. "Once ze Tournament is finished, we can worry about ze future. But, I will say zat none of my plans for ze summer are set in stone. Visiting England is certainly possible, I have been thinking about working here to improve my English…"

"I'd much rather visit France," Harry admitted. "It must be really nice in the summer, and certainly much better than living with my relatives."

"France is beautiful," Fleur replied with a smile. "Ze beaches, ze food, ze people..."

"Of course," Harry replied. "You live there, so how could it not be?"

Fleur smiled again, showing off her perfect white teeth. It was a dazzling smile, one that still caught Harry off guard every single time he witnessed it. "Perhaps one day you will visit," Fleur said.

"Perhaps," Harry replied, returning the smile. "I've never travelled internationally before. Could be fun. But that can wait for later - I didn't think you liked quidditch?"

Fleur shrugged, but was still smiling. "I don't mind watching it," she said. "It can be entertaining, depending on ze players. My friend Marianne is playing, and I decided to support her. I _am_ dreadful at flying zough."

Harry nodded in understanding. Hermione was much the same way. Harry wasn't even sure if his friend had even been on a broom since her first year, but she would dutifully watch every Quidditch game with him. She even went to the World Cup despite knowing nothing about either team.

One of the chasers from the blue team flew wide, tossing the quaffle to a second year Hufflepuff, who in turn shot at the hoops. The yellow team's keeper blocked it deftly, returning the quaffle to their own chaser, one of the Durmstrang students Harry had noticed earlier.

The pace of the game was quick, but not a breakneck pace. They were clearly playing casually for fun, and it looked fun. Harry would have loved nothing more than to fly up and join them, since he was a pretty fair hand at being a chaser as well of a seeker. He could do with a little bit of no pressure fun, but there was too much of a risk.

Even though the next task was still weeks away, even the slightest of risks was too much for Harry to consider it. He had fallen off his broom from over a hundred feet the previous year because Dementors had swarmed the pitch, and although that was extremely unlikely to happen, Dumbledore wouldn't be there to save him again. A hundred foot fall could easily snap his neck and kill him, magic or not.

No, he'd have to be content to watch other people play. He enjoyed that aspect well enough, and having Fleur there watching with him was quite nice. It was not a terrible way to spend an afternoon, all things considered.

He could get used to it.


	19. Chapter 19

Nervousness would not describe what Harry was feeling. Nor was he worried. He just wanted the whole Tournament to be over with already. The year at Hogwarts had been going by super fast, but it wasn't over yet, and the hardest part was yet to come.

The last task was exactly a month away, but it couldn't come soon enough. Harry was worried that a month would not be enough time to prepare, but he was also worried about knowing what the task was a month ahead of time, and dreading every moment of it.

Momentarily, Harry would be finding out what the task was, but that did little to allay his fears. He had been told to meet down at the Quidditch Pitch at a certain time. That in itself was a bit worrying. The official inter-house Quidditch league had been cancelled for the year, and Harry was under the assumption that it had been because the Tournament officials would need to use the stadium for one of the tasks.

So far, that hadn't happened. The first task had utilized freshly built temporary seating miles out in the woods, and the Second Task took place around the lake, where the students sat and essentially just watched three champions swim through water for an hour.

Harry wasn't too upset with the cancellation of the league. As a Champion, he needed all the time he could get to prepare for the tasks, and not having other obligations was working out well. But, that being said, if he hadn't been picked as a Champion he would have been quite annoyed at the situation. Sure, there had been the occasional pick-up game, but it wasn't the same.

That wasn't to say that Harry wouldn't have welcomed the distraction of the Quidditch League. When he was a freshly minted Champion, he had dedicated every waking hour to trying to catch up to the older students. Lavender Brown had broken up with him because she valued him winning the tournament over her being known as a Champion's girlfriend, and she didn't want to distract him.

Now, there was Fleur Delacour. If there was ever a definition of "distraction", she was the embodiment of it. Before the year had started, Harry hadn't known anyone half as beautiful as Fleur existed. Sure, her English wasn't the greatest, and she was a bit quick to anger, though Harry found her aloof snootiness to be a bit endearing.

Harry's thoughts rarely strayed away from his French quarter-Veela girlfriend. Every day he marveled at how the older girl was genuinely interested in him. He wasn't sure if she was interested in him, or just his tales of heroism, but either way, he was more than happy to regale her with how he battled a basilisk and defeated a troll. Harry knew there was more to it than that, that Fleur wasn't a shallow person, but it was those sort of thoughts that constantly distracted him from the tournament.

Getting nearer to the Quidditch pitch, Harry was pleased to see that renovations were, in fact, going on. He would have been extremely upset if the league had been cancelled without the stadium actually being used. The Tournament, while exciting, only really took up three days in the whole year, so cancelling just because of that would not have been a good enough reason in his mind.

The pitch was completely torn up, with the normally flat ground having been replaced with a series of bushes crisscrossing in patterns across the entire length, and the goal rings were nowhere to be found. Harry already had an inkling of what he suspected was going on.

Spotting the the other two Champions talking with Ludo Bagman, Harry made his way over and joined them. He clutched a package to his side, doing his best to obscure it without drawing attention to it. It was a surprise for later.

His girlfriend was looking marvelous, as usual, despite wearing normal robes and a minimal amount of makeup. There was just something about the way she held herself that made Harry do a double-take every time.

And then there was Bagman, who looked every inch of an old washed up Quidditch player looking to relive the glory days. He had a gut that couldn't be hidden by his robes, and his hair was noticeably thin. Regardless, he looked genuinely excited to be there to explain the task to them, and even more excited to have a chance to "talk shop" with Viktor Krum.

Viktor, for his part, seemed to be amusing Bagman's ego by responding to him at all. Usually the Quidditch prodigy was quite reserved when it came to talking with people he barely liked. Heck, Harry was pretty friendly with Krum, yet they barely talked about Quidditch at all - it was something he'd gotten used to, but Bagman seemed oblivious to the social cues.

Fleur though, was bored out of her mind. Her eyes had glazed over as soon as Bagman started talking about sloth rolls and half-Gibsons. Heck, Harry knew what those were and he was getting drowsy just listening to Bagman's voice echo across the empty Quidditch pitch.

With a flourish, Harry stopped next to Fleur and planted a kiss on her cheek, breaking her out of her stupor. "Hello, Fleur," he said.

"'Arry," she replied with a smile. She snuggled closely to Harry in an effort to use his body for warmth. Despite being spring, the nights were still quite nippy, though Harry was more than okay with any excuse to be close to Fleur.

"Ah! Looks like the final Champion is here," Bagman said, dropping the one-sided Quidditch conversation. "So, on with it, shall we? What do you think?"

Bagman turned around and gestured wildly to the hedges that were growing from wall to wall. "Growing nicely, don't you think?" Bagman continued. "Hagrid will have them twenty feet tall within the month! Now, don't worry - the Quidditch pitch will be back to normal before long! Can any of you guess what you're looking at?"

All three of the Champions answered instantly - "Maze."

"Right you are!" Ludo Bagman said, giving a bellowing laugh. "It's obvious why the three of you were chosen. Cleverness! The third task is actually quite straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be planted at the end of the maze. First champion to get it, wins. Champions will have a slight head start depending on their points accumulated so far."

"Zats it?" Fleur asked. "We just 'ave to get through ze maze?"

"There will be obstacles, of course!" Bagman replied, clapping his hands together. "Worry not, there are no dragons waiting for you this time. That is not to say that there will be no dangerous obstacles for you! Quite the opposite really! Enchantments and monsters and all sorts of fun stuff. Oh, and the maze itself moves, so there's no use sneaking a peak to try and memorize a route. Estimated time of completion is around an hour, so everyone has a fighting chance of winning."

Harry paused at the comment about dragons. He did not fancy facing another one, and he was glad that he wouldn't be. Of course, a dragon would likely burn down the whole maze, so it made sense. But, he knew there were other dangerous creatures out there. Manticores and nundus and wyverns… Harry still had no idea what the monster he had faced in the second task was. He suspected that it was some sort of eel, but he really didn't want to know. The thing had really creeped him out.

"Good, good, now, unless there are any questions, we'll head out. It's getting a bit chilly, and we wouldn't want to have any of you getting sick so close to the finale, would we? Might just pop into the Three Broomsticks myself…"

Krum nodded to each of them in turn before immediately heading back to the Durmstrang ship. Bagman started humming to himself as he did, in fact, head towards Hogsmeade, leaving Harry and Fleur walking hand in hand up the dirt path to the castle.

"I brought something," Harry said. "In case you didn't want to leave my presence so soon."

"As long as it doesn't involve Quidditch," Fleur said, giving a small grin to indicate that she was teasing him.

"I was thinking something along the lines of a moonlight picnic, in a nice secluded clearing in the forest. Just me and you. But, if you'd rather talk about Wronski feints, then I'd be okay with that too."

Fleur swatted his arm. "Is it safe to go in ze Forest?" she asked worriedly. "I 'ave 'eard rumors of werewolves and Acromantula…"

"The only werewolf I know is currently somewhere in Ireland, and as far as Acromantula go, the colony is quite deep in the woods. The spot I have in mind isn't that far in, and it gives a nice view of the lake. Plus, we are two Triwizard Champions - we could probably handle a couple of bowtruckles."

"Ah," Fleur said with mock disappointment. "If ze most dangerous thing we have to worry about is bowtruckles, zen I guess I will not be able to see your 'eroism in action."

"I'm sure we can rile up the centaur tribes if you want to see something new and exciting. It probably won't be as epic as battling a basilisk with a sword and a phoenix, but you never know."

"Hm," said Fleur. "I will admit zat is not exactly my idea of a perfect date..."

"Well, in that case, we'll have to settle for sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a bottle of wine. Don't ask me how I managed to get all of that though - it's a trade secret."

Fleur nodded thoughtfully and allowed Harry to lead her hand-in-hand through the outskirts of the forest and into the clearing. From the Quidditch pitch, the walk didn't take too long, even with Harry savoring the quiet time between the two. The clearing itself was close to the edge of the lake, but it was in such a position that it couldn't be seen from the castle proper, though it was feasible that someone on the Durmstrang ship could. The clearing was around ten or twelve feet wide, with a handful of low hanging trees that cast faint shadows in the moonlight. It was the spot where Harry had saved himself and his godfather the previous year with his Patronus Charm, fending off a hundred Dementors.

With a flourish of his wand, Harry cleared the small clearing of miscellaneous brush, allowing himself ample room to set up his picnic blanket. Vanishing charms were neat little cantrips that most wizards and witches used on a daily basis, though there were many variations of it that were the basis of other spells. He made excellent use of it in making the brush and leaves disappear.

The picnic blanket was nothing special, just something Harry had acquired and transfigured to his needs. He figured a simple plaid pattern would suffice, and it would not likely be scrutinized.

Still holding Fleur's hand, Harry helped her sit down on a cushion while he sprawled out to one side. The picnic basket and most of the contents had been provided by the Hogwarts kitchen house elves, and Dobby had been ever-so-delighted to help out the Great and Wonderful Harry Potter.

With no pretense, Harry lit a small globe of light, something he had improved upon after the second task. He then began taking items out of the picnic basket, noting Fleur's inquisitive and curious gaze.

It was nothing special, other than the picnic itself. A couple of sandwiches, some crisps, some fruit, and a bottle of wizarding wine, courtesy of Fred and George. While Harry could sneak into Hogsmeade easily enough, he just didn't have the connections that the Weasley twins did. And he wasn't going to namedrop himself just to get a bottle of wine.

Fleur popped the cork as Harry produced two wine glasses with a clumsy flourish. Harry wasn't really one to drink wine. Well, considering that he was only fourteen, he wasn't really one to drink at all, despite the wizarding laws on alcohol being relatively lax. But French girls and wine went hand in hand, even if the wine wasn't French. The reason for that was that he didn't know anything about French wine, and didn't want to offend her by trying and getting it wrong.

Harry needn't have worried. The wine had a great taste yet wasn't too strong, and Fleur managed to sip it without making a single complaint, not even in jest. They sat in comfortable silence, just staring at the gently lapping waters of the lake as the moon shone down on them.

The sandwiches weren't meant to be a meal, more of an after dinner snack. The Hogwarts House Elves in the kitchen were more than willing to equip Harry with more food than he could ever eat, though he would never tell Hermione how many times he'd gone there after a practice session with Ron to get a midnight snack.

As they ate, they talked a bit about their life growing up. Harry found Fleur's childhood in France to be strangely fascinating, as it had been so different than his own. Fleur's had been cheerful and joyful and she had loving parents and a sibling that didn't hate her. Harry opened up to Fleur a little bit, and her immediate reaction was to pull him close and rest her head on his shoulder.

Harry rarely spoke about his childhood, but he found it easy to talk to Fleur about some parts. Harry didn't want her pity though, so while Fleur found the idea of his relatives not telling him the truth about his parents, Harry didn't stay on that topic for too long, instead discussing his re-introduction to the wizarding world and how he had met his two best friends. Fleur, having grown up knowing about magic, found his story to be just as fascinating as Harry found hers.

Slowly, the story talk died down, and Harry found himself making out with Fleur, picnic completely forgotten. They hadn't even gotten to the dessert, but Fleur's lips tasted much better than chocolate ice cream ever would.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps he was just feeling bold, but Harry slowly placed a hand on Fleur's leg, gently running it up the length of it. He started near her knee and as he worked his way up, he could sense the hesitation in Fleur, but she didn't stop him as his hand eventually found her delectable backside.

The French Champion had a small, yet firm butt. Harry paused his roaming for a second to decide his next course of action. He could have easily slipped his hand down the backside of her pants and found her actual flesh, but he quickly decided that was too brash. He was already exploring new grounds with Fleur, but he didn't want her to clam up and spurn him away in his haste.

With her lips locked firmly on his own, Harry slowly leaned the French witch down onto her back. Supporting herself on her elbows, she allowed Harry a little bit of tongue. A French kiss from a French witch… Harry was enjoying it immensely.

They stayed locked for several minutes, finding a gentle rhythm with their mouths. Exactly how long it lasted, neither one of them could be certain. When they finally did relent and Harry pulled back slightly, he noticed that Fleur was panting heavily and he himself was slightly flustered.

Passion had been in that kiss… passion like Harry had never felt before. As well as that sense of euphoria... He had never felt like that when he had snogged Lavender, but he knew he wanted to experience it again.

There was just something about Fleur that kept drawing him to her. Perhaps it was the way her large breasts bounced and jiggled through her clothes as she tried to catch her breath. Or maybe it was her haughty attitude and fierce wit. Or it could have just been her sexy accent and the way she pronounced his name - 'Arry...

Whatever it was, Harry hadn't felt that way ever before. A lesser man may have contributed it to her Veela heritage, but Harry was no lesser man. Harry had spent a lot of time around her, and he knew that her heritage did not grant her any actual magical abilities. Rather, she was just an extremely sublime woman that appealed to him on every level.

Green eyes locked with deep blue, but Harry hesitated just a fraction of a second. He could have gone farther, but the moment was lost. Fleur had caught her breath and was waiting for Harry's next move.

If Harry was honest, he never actually considered that it could go further than kissing and feeling. In the back of his mind, he knew what that step was, but he'd never actually contemplated that he could take it. He wasn't sure if he was holding himself back, or if he was holding Fleur back. He didn't want to be presumptuous, and start something that neither one of them were ready for. He didn't know the extent of Fleur's experience, though he suspected that it was less than what most people thought, but more than his own.

But there was the voice in the back of his mind, his subconscious. If Fleur had been willing, she would have indicated as such. She had never held herself back in saying or doing anything. The thought that she was unsure, or even shy… it was strange. Perhaps he was simply looking too deeply into the situation, making what was actually a simple situation into one that was complicated when it didn't have to be. Or perhaps he was merely too noble.

With the moment lost, Harry merely grabbed her hand again and laid back on the blanket with her and they watched the moon and stars as they drifted overhead. No words were said, as none needed to be said. Fleur hadn't run away from him, which was a win in his book. The night just reaffirmed that the possibility of something serious happening was still there. Harry could live with that.

* * *

"Earth to Harry!" Hermione called out. Harry blinked his eyes in surprise. Looking around the room, he felt like he was having deja-vu… again. Had he been daydreaming about Fleur again?

Harry sighed. "Sorry, sorry. I've got a lot on my mind."

"Like Fleur Delacour's cup size?" Hermione said testily.

"I wouldn't know," Harry said. "She's…shy."

"Really," Hermione said dryly. "I find that hard to believe."

"Well, you don't know her like I do," Harry said. "And it hasn't gone beyond some intense snogging sessions. Shy might not be the right word though. Patient, perhaps?"

"Whatever," Hermione replied with a huff, though her lips were quirking up slightly. She was happy for her friend, happy that he was happy. But, she was trying to help him, which was cutting into her own study lessons for the end of the year. She was taking more classes than him and she had to actually take the final exams, which Harry didn't have to. "Nevermind all of that."

"Yeah mate, never mind the super hot French quarter-Veela that also happens to be your girlfriend… Forget that for just one second." Ron made his presence known, sitting down heavily in a chair but carrying a tray full of brownies that he had "acquired" from the kitchen. Harry took one of the brownies, ignoring Ron's ribbing.

"Don't be such a prat," Hermione said. She ignored the plate of brownies in front of her, despite having a slight hunger. Her parents were dentists, and being so close to the summer break, she didn't want to risk their wrath, however imagined it might be.

"So, any progress?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Not really. We we're just brainstorming what we could logically expect Harry to come across in the maze."

"Uhg, I still can't believe they tore up the Quidditch pitch for some silly tournament," Ron said, shoving a brownie into his maw.

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she knew Ron was having her on. "Well, while you were down in the kitchens taking advantage of those poor overworked house elves, we were discussing what it meant that Hagrid was the one setting up the task."

Ron stopped chewing for a second in surprise, before just swallowing the brownie whole. "Hagrid? You didn't mention he was involved before."

"It slipped my mind," Harry replied.

"No kidding," Ron deadpanned. "It'd slip my mind two, if Delacour was all over me like that…"

Harry stole another brownie from Ron in response to the jibe. "Ludo Bagman was the one who let it slip. It was an offhand comment. I think it's important though. With the kind of creatures Hagrid has been able to get his hands on in the last three years…"

Harry let the implication hang in the air for a second until Ron caught on. "Hang on… if Hagrid is involved… you don't think you're going to have to face down a Blast-Ended Skrewt?"

"Think so? I know so. I'd say it's all but guaranteed."

"Man, how lucky can you get? It's been my desire all year to see them get stomped. Granted, they've mostly done that to themselves, but at least you'll get some satisfaction..."

"Maybe if they were still the size of small crabs, I wouldn't be worried," Harry responded. "But there's how many of them left? Two or three? Each the size of a horse, or bigger? Yeah... I'd rather not. If I never saw another Skrewt for the rest of my life, it would be too soon."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Ron said wistfully. "So, if Hagrid's involved, you can expect hippogriffs and acromantulas at the very least. I doubt centaurs would get involved, but you never know. Perhaps you'll have to face down Fluffy again? At least you'd know how to get past it this time."

"Aragog and Fluffy… luckily Buckbeak is not here. At least he hasn't actually named the Skrewts yet. At least, not that we know of."

"That would be something," Ron agreed. "But, he's probably been growing them all year with the final task in mind. It can't be a coincidence."

"Harry won't just have to deal with Hagrid's furry friends," Hermione stated. "There's going to be enchantments and curses and jinxes. And then the maze itself."

"I'm not too worried about getting lost," Harry said. "One of the very first spells we went over at the beginning was a compass spell, you remember? As long as I know which direction I need to head, I should be fine."

"You've never been in a maze before, have you?" Hermione asked skeptically. Harry shook his head. "Well, I have. They're a popular attraction during Halloween. Anyways, they're very disorientating. When all you can see is the same generic hedge in every direction and with paths only a couple feet wide, you might start feeling closed in and claustrophobic. And then when you add in all the magical things that the officials are bound to come up with, I think you're going to need a lot more than just a compass. Half of the battle is going to be psychological. Compass or not, you'll be going in circles and backtracking, second guessing your every choice…"

"I'm glad I have your vote of confidence, Hermione," Harry said with a grin.

"I'm being serious," she said. "I just feel like there's going to be more to this task than just learning a few spells."

"I'm not worried about any mind games that might happen," Harry said. "Remember, I grew up with the Dursley's - I'm used to all sorts of crap like that. Unless the maze is packed with Dementors or something… but even then, I know the Patronus Charm. I think the wisest thing to do is to focus on strategy. That's where you come in Ron."

"What, just because I can stomp you in chess on a daily basis, you think I can come up with some grand strategy of getting you through a giant magical maze alive?"

"Yes."

"Oh, okay then," Ron replied. "Well, the first priority is survival, of course. Knowing when to take calculated risks is crucial, but when it comes to enchantments that you can't identify, you have to be very careful."

"There won't be anything too lethal," Hermione pointed out. "They're not trying to kill the Champions. It's sort of like a race, and they're all competing against each other… they might even run into each other."

"Then Harry will have to resist the urge to snog Fleur for a few seconds," Ron replied, rolling his eyes. "Anyways, the enchantments might not be lethal, but that doesn't mean they won't try to incapacitate him. That's why spell recognition is very important. Like Hermione said, it's a race, and getting knocked out by a enchantment you couldn't identify could cost you the whole thing. I'll send a letter to my brother Bill - he's a cursebreaker, so he should be able to provide us a list with some of the more common things that you'd expect. Going through "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" again is probably a good idea as well. That way you can prioritize what you need to do."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry said grinning. "See, I knew you would come up with a decent strategy, and you thought all that up in about five seconds. I can't wait to hear what you come up with after you've had a night's rest."

"Aw, mate, I'm blushing," Ron said, not really blushing. "We'll come up with something that'll help you win this thing. And when you do, we'll all be rich. Or, well, less poor."

"That's the spirit."


	20. Chapter 20

Ludo Bagman had not been kidding when he said that Hagrid would grow the maze hedges up to twenty feet tall. By Harry's estimation, they were even taller than that.

The Quidditch pitch had been vastly renovated since the last time Harry had been there. He would be lying to say that he hadn't taken a few sneak peeks in the month since they had all been told about the task, but the last time he looked, the hedges hadn't been half as high, and there had been no hint as to any of the maze's contents.

There were several thousand occupants in the stadium, only a quarter of which were actually students. As it was the finale of the Tournament, anyone who wasn't a student and wanted to come, could purchase a ticket, though many people had personal invites. The Weasleys were there, supporting Harry, while Fleur's and Viktor's families were there as well. Then there were the Ministry workers, numbering a hundred or so, with many Aurors providing security. They would be patrolling the outside of the maze, awaiting any emergency that may come up.

With all of the people gathered, there were several vendors taking advantage. Fred and George, had of course, taken plenty of bets, but even more than that, there were wizards selling omnioculars, candy, drinks, and even banners supporting the three different Champions. It was surreal to see a flag with his own name on it, but Harry wasn't really surprised. He was very marketable, but there was a strange grey-area because he was underaged and hadn't given permission to use his likeness. That limited merchandise to strictly Tournament related memorabilia.

Harry barely listened as Ludo Bagman announced the task to the assembled crowd. Viktor was in first place with points, so he'd be going into the maze first, and then Harry would go in shortly after. Last would be Fleur. First person to reach the Triwizard Cup that was located deep in the maze would win. Harry knew all that and had spent the whole month preparing.

Truthfully, Harry had spent even more than just the last month in preparation. The whole year had lead up to this moment. It had started off as a mental exercise, wondering what it would be like to be chosen as the Hogwarts Champion. He'd dated and broken up with Lavender Brown over the fact, just in an attempt to explore outside of his comfort zone. He exposed both an illegal animagus and a Death Eater masquerading around as a professor. Then, he began dating the most attractive girl he'd ever laid eyes on. And he had learned more magic this year than the previous three years combined.

Needless to say, it had been eventful, but it was not yet over. Harry wanted nothing more than to win the Tournament. He hated being famous for something he had little memory of and little choice over. He wanted desperately to be known for his own skill and ability. And Harry knew the other two Champions wanted the exact same thing.

It wasn't about the gold, and it certainly wasn't about the glory. It was about quelling the naysayers and showing the world that he wasn't a fluke. And, if the worst somehow came to pass and he didn't win, he had a consolation prize in that he was dating Fleur Delacour. He still didn't know what would happen after the school year was done… but the suspense of not knowing was a bit exciting.

A whistle sounded, breaking Harry out of his reverie. Professor McGonagall was standing at the entrance to the maze and motioning for Viktor Krum to enter the maze. The sound of the crowd was almost deafening when Viktor's name was announced, and with a grim nod, the Bulgarian pulled out his wand and entered into the maze.

Entering the maze, Viktor looked tiny. The hedge walls were four or five times taller than him, but the width of the passage couldn't have been more than three feet wide. Harry was getting claustrophobic just looking at it.

VIktor disappeared from view fairly quickly. There seemed to be a lingering fog that blanketed the maze, vaguely arcane in nature, and along with the shifting nature of the maze itself, no passage would keep its shape for long.

Harry grabbed Fleur's hand and pulled her close. Her presence steeled his confidence for the upcoming challenge. She would not be dating him if he was a nobody or a weakling, and that was enough. He was determined.

Two or three minutes passed before Harry's whistle was called. Sighing deeply to himself, he dropped Fleur's hand and walked to the entrance of the Maze. "Good luck, 'Arry," Fleur whispered to him. He smiled back as McGonagall shooed him into the maze.

Walking carefully, Harry made sure to keep track of his surroundings as much as possible. The first spell he cast was the 'point me' spell. It would help him keep orientated as long as he ultimately kept going in the same direction.

Turning around, Harry already lost sight of the entrance, despite having only gone fifty feet or so. Looking up, Harry could barely make out the stars in the sky through the small gap in the twenty-five foot high hedges. The hedges themselves seemed to rustle in an unseen, ghostly wind, sending shivers up his spine.

Harry wasn't sure how long it would be before Fleur entered the maze. Harry had only been behind VIktor's score by a few points, and he had waited three minutes or so, but Fleur had been behind him by far more. It could be a long time before she entered and she would have a lot of ground to make up.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the distraction, Harry headed deeper into the maze. Thus far, the path had been singular and he hadn't come across any traps, or any decisions at all. However, it wasn't long after when came across a fork in the path. There was a path to the left, and one to the right, forming a 'Y' in front of him.

Harry peered down the left path first, trying to see any hints of anything, but saw nothing distinctive. The story was the same to the right, and his 'point me' spell gave him no help. Indecisively, Harry was unsure of which path to take, but the maze itself did not have the patience. The hedge in front of Harry between the two paths seemed to shimmer and shake, and then it moved, splitting in half, revealing a third path, which looked identical to the others.

In Harry's mind, there was no way that the new path wasn't a trap, and again, he hesitated. And again, the maze reacted to him. The ground underneath him seemed to shift, and the hedge behind him started to close in, and Harry had to move quickly or else he would be engulfed. The only thing Harry could do was sprint forward into the new, middle path and hope for the best, so that's what he did.

He realized that he could not wait around in one spot for too long, and no matter what, he had to keep moving. His knuckles were white on his wand and his eyes darted in every direction, trying to see something in the hedges, but it was too dark, and too foggy. Even creating light with his wand did not help nearly enough. His breath was ragged, and his mind slightly panicked, but he managed to keep his cool.

It seemed like the path went on in a straight direction for a mile, but Harry knew that it was deceptive. With magic, it was quite possible that he had gone in a circle while appearing to go in a straight line. Again, the 'point me' spell told him nothing other than north was still north.

The first obstacle came on him and he quite nearly stepped right into it. With the lingering fog blanketing the ground, Harry had almost not noticed the giant pit that opened up in the path in front of him. With a concentrated, but quick, gout of flame, Harry managed to clear the fog away enough to get a good look at the pit.

It was about twenty feet wide, but Harry could not see the bottom of it. He could not ascertain whether or not the pit itself was the obstacle, or if there was something else hiding in the pit, waiting to spring up. But, he had dallied too long at the edge and the maze was once again rustling behind him.

Recalling the second task, Harry aimed his wand at the far side. Quickly, he called out the climbing spell he had used to traverse the depths of the lake. The spell grabbed onto the path on the other side, and he was jerked across the gap, staring down into the endless bottom before landing in the dirt, a little roughed up and sore, but still intact.

Heaving himself back up to his feet, Harry took a second to wipe the dirt off his hands and roll his wrist. It wasn't sprained, but the sudden hook-and-pull action hurt a lot more on dry ground than it did in water. Harry didn't spare a glance behind him as he rushed down the path. It had taken nearly ten minutes before he had come across the first obstacle, and he had a hunch that he wouldn't come across another one so soon after the previous.

Making decent time, a series of disorientating turns came up, but Harry kept moving, not wanting to get caught in the maze shifting again. There was only one direction to go, so there wasn't much for it but to keep going forward. Again, the 'point me' spell was proving to be pointless when the only two options were to go forward or retrace his steps backwards.

The second obstacle was not as subtle as the first. The three foot wide path expanded just enough to fit a Blast-Ended Skrewt in it, but not wide enough for someone to walk by it. The only options were for Harry to fight it to get by, or to backtrack and hope the maze had changed somewhere along the path and opened up another path.

Harry actually smiled. There was nothing he would enjoy more than beating up a Blast-Ended Skrewt. But, the problem was that there had been a hundred Skrewts to begin with. And only the strongest and most hardiest of them had survived the year. All of his desire to get vengeance on the Skrewt did not matter when he truly did not know _how_ to fight one. Not when it was ten feet long and probably weighed half a ton, with a pincher that somehow breathed fire and with armor plating that did not look like it would be easily penetrated.

It was fast. Harry had forgotten how fast they were, despite its size. The was a flash of fire as it blasted down the path, barrelling towards him with it's giant stinger poised for attack. With only a handful of seconds to act, the only thing Harry could do was blast the path in front of him with an explosive hex. The Skrewt stumbled and lost momentum over the uneven terrain, but it was very aware of where Harry was.

While the Skrewt may have somewhat resembled a scorpion in appearance, it did not share any of its mannerisms. It was aggressive, and its stinger was prehensile, bending at an angle Harry would not have thought possible, and he had to dodge quickly out of the way. Harry wasn't sure if the thing even had a mouth in which to eat him with if he did get incapacitated, but he did not want to find out.

Harry tried a few rudimentary spells, a stunner, a blasting hex and a fireball, but none so much as made the Skrewt pause. It was just too heavily armored for a non-lethal spell to be effective, and despite his feelings about the Skrewt, he wasn't just going to slaughter it in front of a crowd of two-thousand.

Harry had spent enough time around various monsters to know when to switch tactics. He wasn't going to be able to beat it going heads on, not with such a small amount of maneuvering space. He thought back to his battle with the dragon, in how he went through the effort of disabling some of its senses. The problem was that he wasn't sure _how_ the Skrewt sensed anything. Even having spent a whole year raising the things, he hadn't gleaned any real insight into the matter.

In the end, Harry went for the easy route. He went up and over the Skrewt. He merely had to dodge the thing's stinger and not get hit by the jets of flame that it liked to spout. Harry hadn't been the youngest Hogwart's seeker in a century for nothing - he was very nimble. The Skrewt hadn't been happy when Harry had jumped up onto its carapace and hopped over it onto the other side, but there was little it could do.

There was not enough room for it to turn around, so all it could do was go forward. But, just to be on the safe side, once he was clear of the stinger, Harry put a blockade across the path just in case it decided to back up after him, but Harry needn't have bothered. In a few minutes the maze would likely forge a new path regardless. Harry just hoped that Fleur would not come across it.

Time was beginning to stretch for Harry, like it had in the second task. He was starting to get the feeling that they had been in the maze for a long time, and he had no way of knowing if he was in the lead or not. He could see the night sky, but he had not seen any emergency flares, nor had the generic sound of the crowd and the announcer given any hint towards his progress.

The only way to go was onward, so that's what Harry did, with his wand ever at the ready. It was clear that the obstacles were slowly getting more difficult, and Harry was worried about what the next one would be. He still had to be quick, as above all else, this was a race.

It sprung at Harry almost as soon as the thought of future obstacles had entered his mind. It landed on his back, sending him sprawling, but he managed to not lose his wand. He could hear the sound of skittering as it climbed up his back, but his robe was preventing it from doing any actual damage.

Harry had a hunch as to what it was, but he hoped he was wrong. The monster wasn't that large, but it had a found the center of his back and would not let go with its legs. Harry didn't fancy trying to blast something off his back and accidently hitting himself, so he did the only thing he could do, which was to get up onto his feet and jump backwards onto his back.

The sound was sickening, and the effect was immediate. The guts of giant spider spilled all over the ground, but he could smell the acrid burning of his robe. Panicking, Harry shucked out of it as quickly as he could, tossing it over the remains of the still-twitching Acromantula. The venom was quickly eating through the cloth of the robe, and Harry realized how fortunate he was to not have been bit.

While not the largest of the species Harry had seen, it had still been the size of a dog. He couldn't wait to tell Ron though, about how he killed an Acromantula without even casting a spell. Given the choice, Harry figured Ron would appreciate the spider casualty over the Skrewt.

Harry had to keep moving. Time was of the essence, and it was no use fretting about over the squashed remains of the spider, though Harry would lament the loss of his robe. There was no saving it though, not with the magical damage caused by the very potent secretion.

Five or ten minutes quickly passed after he had been ambushed by the Acromantula. The path had split several times, with Harry alternating between taking the left path, and taking the right. Harry figured that if he took the left path every time, he would actually go in a circle. But, he knew with magic and how the maze kept changing itself, that might not be strictly true, but he more or less made sure he kept heading deeper into the maze. While he hadn't yet felt like he'd gotten lost at any point in time, the lack of traps was starting to bother him.

But again, as soon as a shred of doubt began to enter his mind, he nearly stepped straight into it. The trap was subtle, but Harry was bordering on paranoia at the point, ready to blast anything that moved. The near-miss with the Acromantula had caused him to redouble his perception.

The first sign that something was different was the slight sound of static that seemed to creep up on him. The sound of the crowd seemed to be muted, and when Harry thought about it, he wasn't sure when that had changed.

Treading carefully forward, Harry had to pause immediately when a strange tingling sensation washed over him. He stood still, trying to identify the feeling. It wasn't like the Imperius Curse or any sort of compulsion, but it did feel magical. His body had told him to stop, so he had.

Carefully though, ever so carefully, he took a single step forward, only to immediately leap back when burst of electricity shot up from the ground and arced all over the place before bounding up the hedges themselves.

Harry, not keen on getting electrocuted and incapacitated, peered around looking for the source, but found nothing. He could see the magic coalescing and pooling underneath the fog and underlying the bottom of the hedges, but whatever the source was, Harry wasn't sure.

Harry would have loved to have been able to say that in the last month he gotten good at breaking curses and dissolving enchantments, but the exact opposite was true. It was difficult at best, and Harry knew he didn't have even a hope of finding a countercurse if the standard dispelling magics didn't work.

Again, Harry was a bit out of his depth and couldn't just tackle the obstacle head on. Fleur likely could have dispelled it with minimal effort, but Harry just didn't have anywhere near her talent or experience with charms. He'd have to build a workaround.

Spending a minute to observe the trap, Harry noticed a few things. First, was that it was proximity triggered. It wasn't an instant discharge, but there was a build up time between where the trap seemed to sense something getting close, and then there was the mark where it actually discharged.

Harry wouldn't just be able to rush past like he did with the Blast-Ended Skrewt. He'd get blasted for sure, unless he managed to create a diversion. Or, he could just ground it. That would be simple enough.

Having grown up in the muggle world, Harry knew how electricity worked well enough. He wasn't sure if Viktor or Fleur would be able to say the same, but lightning was a natural phenomena and not something strictly muggle. But, if Arthur Weasley was anything to go by, it may have been a bit optimistic to think they'd know that a metal rod would work well enough to divert the electricity.

It was easy enough to transfigure a lightning rod. Harry, was of course, going off the assumption that the obstacle was in fact lighting and not some magical aberration that mimicked it. The way his hair rose on end when he approached the path was all the confirmation he needed however.

His transfiguration skills had improved slightly since the Second Task, but they were still nothing to write home about. He was unlikely to be able to pursue the animagus transfiguration in his fifth year like his father had, but creating a lightning rod was little more than transfiguring a match-shaped object on larger scale. Nothing too hard at all, and Harry felt the key detail about the trap was the knowledge of the trap's effects rather than the magical aspect.

With grim determination, Harry set up the rod and walked forward, deliberately triggering the trap. Lightning blast forth, arcing at Harry, but ultimately zigzagged upwards towards the tip of the rod, grounding itself. Harry took that as his cue to run quickly through the trap and out the other side, before the maze got the idea that he was taking too long.

One more trap down, Harry felt like he had to have been nearing the end. He hadn't come across the same thing twice yet, which was good. Nor did he get the feeling like he was backtracking. Once he was past the lightning, he could hear the crowd again as well. Perhaps they were even slightly louder than they were before.

Were they cheering for him? Harry couldn't tell. He wasn't even sure how they were able to see what the Champions were doing. For all Harry knew, they could just be staring at twenty-five foot tall hedges for an hour. But, the likely scenario was that the same scrying spell from the Second Task was being used again. There could quite literally be a thousand people watching Harry walking cautiously through the corners of the maze, looking for the exit.

There was a round clearing ahead of him. With the solid curtain of shadows and green hedges providing uniformity in the background, Harry hadn't seen it until he was already in it.

It wasn't a small clearing either, being some fifty feet in diameter. Confused, Harry looked around, wondering if this was where the Cup was supposed to be, but it just didn't feel right to him.

Wand clenched firmly in hand, Harry carefully scouted the clearing. It would not be there if there was not an obstacle of some sort waiting for him.

He needn't have looked too hard. In the center, an orb was floating off the ground. It looked crystalline, but Harry hesitated getting a closer look. He didn't think it would be another lightning trap, but whatever it was it was likely to have some sort of trigger.

The smart move would be to ignore it and go around the outside and exit the clearing without triggering the trap. But every time Harry moved, it looked like the passage on the opposite side moved with him. He'd take a step to the left, but the exit would remain exactly across from him.

With a heavy sigh, Harry carefully approached the floating orb. As he got nearer, he noticed that something seemed to be drifting off the orb, almost dripping. At first glance, it looked like the orb was actually the source of the low clinging fog that permeated the entirety of the maze, but a second glance told him that he was wrong. In fact, the exact opposite seemed to be true, in that the fog seemed to be coalescing in this one spot, and the stuff dripping from the orb was actually just water.

Whether or not this was supposed to be some big revelation, Harry didn't know. What he did know was that as he approached, the orb seemed to pulse with magic, changing shades from white to blue before ending up as a deep crimson red.

Harry had a shield charm waiting on his lips, eager to be deployed at the first sign of attack, but it didn't come. What did come was something Harry hadn't expected. He could have dealt with the possibility of a manticore, or a flame trap, or giant statue bearing down on him with a sword, but he hadn't expected the ghostly figure to rise out out of the fog, wearing his face.

That he had not expected. It emerged slowly, like a ghost rising from the ground, but it appeared to be solid rather than translucent. It looked exactly like him, except it had a goatee. It was the most incredulous thing Harry had ever seen - was this supposed to be his evil twin?

"What are you?" Harry asked, wand clenched in his hand.

"I am you," the fog monster replied.

"No, I am me," Harry responded.

"Well, said," the creature said, rolling its eyes in disdain. "But, once I absorb your life energy, I will become you. I implore you to make this easiest for both of us, to save us the unneeded hardship that comes with possessing a mortal body."

Staring at the creature's face was like staring at himself in the mirror, if the mirror showed his reflection in monochrome. It was quite disturbing, looking at his own face, bearing the same glasses, the same famous scar, the same untamed hair.

As Harry raised his wand, his clone copied his movements exactly. Pacing off to the right, the clone went to the left, both of them circling around the orb. It was both uncanny, and unnerving. How could he fight against himself?

"Stupefy!" Harry cried out. His twin countered with his own "Protego!" blocking the spell perfectly.

His clone then took the initiative, shouting "Stupefy!" and Harry was on the opposite side, blocking with a shield charm. It was very uncanny.

Harry lead of with a blasting curse this time, aiming straight for center of mass. The clone dodged it, and the curse splashed harmlessly against the hedges, which did not even look they had been damaged by the spell at all.

And again, his clone reciprocated the same exact spell. Harry was forced to dodge the blasting curse, though it was clear he was not as nimble as his counterpart. The evil twin was fresh and ready, a magical construct, while Harry was battered and worn from an hour in the maze, and he was mentally fatigued as well.

He would have to keep his fatigued state in mind when dueling the clone. If it came down to a battle of reflexes, he would lose, Harry knew that. The key was to make sure it did not come down to something like that.

Harry began to put his training with Ron and Hermione to good use. They hadn't dueled in a normal sense, but they had practiced a variety of spells in a variety of fake scenarios. Naturally, the evil clone scenario was not amongst them, but Harry began going through the motions, starting with transfiguration, creating several racoons to harass him. The second part of his training was to learn how to counter or reverse the same spell, which came in handy when his evil clone copied his actions nearly move for move.

Breathing in deeply, Harry concentrated on the activity, pretending it was just like the classroom. He idly blasted the enemy racoons away while deciding on his next plan of attack.

It truly did not matter what spells Harry lead off with. He tried common spells, like the disarming charm and a water jet, but nothing seemed to hit. Nor was he hit in return.

Then, he dug into his deeper reservoir. He was trying to figure out the limits of the clone, to see how much knowledge it truly had. It easily deflected a broad-stroke banishing charm, sending it off into the sky above, and just as easily countered the hurling hex and sledgehammer jinx, the latter of which was a spell Harry had not actually used before.

It was when Harry cast a stone-cleaving spell straight at the clone, that Harry knew he was in trouble. He had learned it just the night before, and the clone used the perfect counterspell on it.

Smirking, the clone was practically mocking him, as if it was disappointed that this was the best Harry could come up with. Harry was beginning to get frustrated, and was frantically picking up his pace with his spell casting, chaining spells together in an effort to overcome the clone by sheer volume.

Much to Harry's dismay, the clone was intimately familiar with Harry's fighting style. Even when Harry was truly randomizing his spell selection, the clone was perfect in his every counter.

It was clear, that much like the majority of the previous obstacles, he could not face this one head on. He'd have to face it sideways. He began running through his basic charms again, ones he could easily counter himself when the roles were reversed, in an effort to think of a solution.

Harry began thinking back to the nature of the clone. It was born of the fog, so it was some sort of magical construct. It was obviously not a real person, using a real wand. Perhaps the spells it was using were not even real, but being born of magic, Harry did not want to chance an adverse reaction.

So, Harry began focusing on that idea. He was in some sort of magical field, and it all centered on the orb in the middle - or was it? Several spells had come close to hitting it, yet nothing had happened. Harry did not think it would be as simple as it had been in his second year, where he destroyed the diary of Tom Riddle, thus destroying the magical projection that had come from it.

But it was an idea. There was the possibility that the whole thing was an illusion, or even worse, completely inside his mind. The clone had been dodging or countering all of his spells, and Harry didn't think an illusion would be worried about their physical form at all.

Knowing how the whole fight had gone down so far, Harry purposefully allowed one of his clone's slamming hexes to impact him squarely in the chest. There would be bruising in the morning, but the look on his clone's face was amusing, as it was one of confusion. It almost appeared as the clone had not choice but to take Harry's identical spell in his own chest, even if he grimaced while doing so. But take the spell it did, and it did not go through it like Harry would have expected if it had been an illusion.

Instead, the spell impacted and the clone's form seemed to shimmer a bit, but it did not appear to be physically damaged, though magically, Harry wasn't sure. Harry realized then that the obstacle was some sort of narcissistic or masochistic test. In order to hit the clone, he would have to take the same damage in turn. Harry did not think his healing skills were up to the challenge of such a feat, trying to outlast a purely magical entity. Nor did he think it healthy that he actually considered the idea of abusing the heck out of his body just to defeat his clone. There were limits to the price he was willing to pay to get past this obstacle, and the destruction of his own body was not high on his list.

It was at least a route to victory if he did not come up with something better quickly. The second idea in Harry's mind was to see if the construct somehow existed solely in his mind. The context of the previous experiment would still be true if that were the case, but Harry was unsure. Harry thought himself to be fairly decent when it came to mental intrusions, as he was able to shrug off a Death Eater's Imperius Curse with a little practice. He did not get the slightest hint that he was being influenced in any way, but he was mentally drained and physically exhausted.

Harry decided then he would have to fight fire with fire if he wanted to get past this obstacle while still making decent progress towards the end of the maze.

A thought crossed his mind then - could it really be so simple? To fight fire with fire… literally. It harkened back to the nature of the clone, being some sort of magical construct. But Harry had to go even deeper than that.

Fire was the antithesis of all things magical. A powerful enough flame could destroy even the most robust of enchantments. Given enough time, even the Sun's rays could erode a neglected enchantment of the highest caliber.

Harry had a feeling he was on to something. He could hit the clone with a fireball, and the clone would reciprocate the same, but the actual effects the spell would have on the two of them would be completely different. In theory, at least.

Gritting his teeth, Harry knew he was on to something as the first cone of flame completed obscured his clone from view. The clone had conjured a heat absorbing shield, but the shield was of the same nature as the clone itself. It was not as effective as it should have been, not like Harry's identical shield he used with the clone attempt the same spell.

Knowing he was on to something, Harry picked up the pace of the fight, cycling through every fire spell he knew of. The clone was just as frantic, doing its best to diminish the effect of the spells, but for every single spell that he stopped, his form grew slightly weaker. It was barely noticeable at first, but gradually the strength of the fire began to overpower the clone's spells completely.

After a minute of relentless assault, the clone held up his hands. "You don't have to do this," the clone said. It did not beg, but it was close. "To kill me is to kill yourself!"

"I highly doubt that," Harry said in between breaths. He was panting hard, and sweat was pouring down his face.

"Do it then," the clone said. "But let it not be said I didn't warn you - you will need my help for the final task. Let me live, and I would be bound to you eternally."

"You are already bound to me eternally," Harry retorted. "I will have the memory of this for as long as I live, as well as the memory of me winning this tournament without your help. Now, if you don't mind, CONFRINGO!"

The fireball impacted center of mass, sending flames up and over the hedges themselves. Harry raised up an arm to his face to cover himself as the heat licked at his skin, but it was over as quickly as it started. The construct was nowhere to be seen, and the fog was once more benign.

Grinning satisfactorily, Harry walked past the orb and towards the continuation of the path. That had been one hell of a battle, and Harry secretly hoped that everyone had seen him come out on top, defeating essentially what was an avatar of his opposite self.

Harry was beyond exhausted at this point. Harry really hoped that he was nearing the end. If there was another obstacle that was even half as difficult as that one had been, he would be in serious trouble.

His luck held out, however. Not two minutes after he destroyed his evil twin, he entered a singularly straight path that seemed to stretch on for several hundred feet. And, if his eyes weren't betraying him, at the end of that path, he could see a glimmer of golden light.

It was the Triwizard Trophy.

The maze around him seemed to rumble as he stood there, staring at the cup. Vines began creeping out of the hedges, and Harry knew he had been standing there for too long. Harry knew it could not be as simple as just approaching the Cup and taking it - his clone had said the most difficult task would be the last. The clone could have been lying, Harry knew that. But, the clone had been himself, even if it was a darker, evil version of himself. Harry could not lie to himself, but the options he had were too few.

Just as the vines were about to grab onto Harry's ankles, he broke out into a jog. Nothing would stop him from winning now, not even an evil clone's cryptic warning.

As he jogged, the rumbling in the maze intensified. Harry knew what was coming next, but there was little he could do about it. The rumbling signified that he had taken too long and the maze would be shifting itself around.

Harry ran. Using up all the remaining reserves he had left, he practically sprinted down the path He had to get to the Cup before the pathway was lost to him in its entirety. But as he ran, the earth beneath his feet shifted around causing him to stumble. He did not lose momentum however, as he had not come all this way to be thwarted in such a manner.

He continued to run, only pausing a second to look back behind him. Immediately, he regretted that decision, as he did not like what he saw. The ground behind him was disappearing, as if it were falling into a giant sinkhole, and it was gaining on him.

Harry pushed himself faster, and his lungs burned as he gasped for air, not wanting to fall into the abyss. It was a long run, five hundred feet or more, but Harry pushed himself to the brink of unconsciousness as he sprinted the distance.

Slowly, the Cup grew larger in his vision until he was practically upon it. Just as Harry reached it, the ground beneath his feet disappeared entirely, and Harry was left hanging in midair briefly. His momentum was enough, however, and he found himself clinging to the edge of the podium that held the cup.

With great pain, Harry slowly pulled himself out of the sinkhole that had nearly swallowed him. He could just barely make out the bottom of it, some fifty feet below him. The fall might not have killed him, but he likely would have broken his legs and arms.

Harry stared at the Cup in front of him. He had done it. He was the first one there, and there was no sign of the other two Champions at all. In the distance, he could hear the crowd cheering for him. Something was odd though - his clone had warned him that the last task would be the most difficult yet. Truthfully, the sinkhole had been frightening, but it wasn't exactly a dragon waiting in ambush.

Harry, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath, contemplated the Cup in front of him. He had bested a half dozen obstacles and made it to the end faster than the other two Champions who had vastly more experience and knowledge than him. He had well and truly done it.

A small grin crossed Harry's face as he realized that this was truly the end. He had finished it, and now he would reap the rewards. Exhausted beyond belief, Harry was sure the only reason he was even still standing was pure adrenaline alone, so it was with great pleasure that Harry firmly grabbed the handle of the cup, only to be surprised when instead of feeling the weight of it as he went to raise it over his head, he suddenly found himself spinning around and around in a circle as the portkey activated, pulling him through reality and dumping him onto the hard ground, hundreds of miles away from where he had once been.

Harry damn well nearly threw up from the surprise sensation of the portkey, which in his opinion, was one of the most unpleasant ways to travel ever invented.

However, Harry did actually throw up when he saw Peter Pettigrew approaching him between the statues and headstones of the unfamiliar graveyard Harry had suddenly found himself in. It was then, he knew, that he was in trouble. Serious trouble.


	21. Chapter 21

The world spun around Harry as the tumultuous and sudden portkey journey and his exhausted state collided, wracking Harry's body with disorientating nausea. Harry barely noticed that he had actually vomited onto the ground, his faltering attention focused slowly on the approaching form of Peter Pettigrew.

The past year had not been kind to the traitor. Pettigrew - Wormtail - had always been a bit chubby, but Harry noticed that there was a distinct unhealthy sheen to him. His eyes were sunken, his skin was sallow, and his hair was grey and patchy. There were heavy bags under his eyes as if he hadn't gotten a good night's rest in weeks. He shambled towards Harry, carrying a bundle in his arms as he did so. He looked terribly out of breath, and wheezed as if he was going to keel over at any second.

Harry wanted revenge on this man more than anything in the world. Harry had spared him the previous year, only because he didn't want his godfather to become a murderer like the people thought he was. Now, he was having second doubts. This was clearly the end-game that he and Dumbledore had been trying to thwart for the last six months, and Harry had stumbled into it like some naive little boy.

Groaning in agony, Harry took a second to look around at his surroundings. Wormtail had only spared a single glance at Harry as he walked by, depositing the bundle of robes onto the ground and immediately attending to the massive cauldron that was set up in the middle of the area.

Harry couldn't recall if he had ever been in a graveyard before, but there was no mistaking this place for anything else. There was a small mausoleum off to the one side, the overgrown tomb nearly blending in with the ground itself. Further away, Harry could make out the outline of a small church, and beyond that, there was a manor house upon a hill, overlooking the whole scene.

The only sound was the dead wind blowing through the worn monoliths that marked the graves of the long dead. Harry, straightening his glasses which had been knocked askew, looked over at the nearest gravestone, hoping to find a hint of where he was. The name was partially obscured by a layer of cobwebs, but Harry was quite familiar with the surname.

 _Riddle._

This was the gravesite of Voldemort's muggle relations. The thought sent shivers up Harry's spine. Harry knew immediately that nothing good would come for this. He reached for his wand, only to notice that he could not find it. Had Wormtail taken it from him when he landed?

"Where am I?" Harry called out.

Wormtail turned and gave Harry a withering look. "You are here at the behest of my Master. Where 'here' is does not matter. This place is unplottable and untrackable."

"Why am I here then?"

"You will see soon enough," Wormtail replied dismissively. He turned his back towards the cauldron, completely ignoring Harry again. Harry wanted nothing more than to run up and push him in, but he knew in his fatigued state, he had no chance physically against the much bigger wizard.

"Now now, Wormtail, don't be so rude to our guest," a disembodied voice said. Harry looked around, trying to see where the voice was coming from, but Harry had a feeling he would not like the answer. "Are the preparations ready?"

"Nearly, Master," Wormtail replied subserviently.

"Good," the voice replied. "Now, why don't you give our honored guest a front row seat. He is about to witness history after all. This day will mark the beginning of my ascendency."

"As you wish, Master," said Wormtail. He turned back towards Harry quicker than Harry would have thought possible, wand at the ready. Wormtail slashed his wand, and Harry suddenly found himself impacting that body of a large statue. Shortly after, ropes sprang into existence, bounding him entirely to the statue and unable to move.

From this vantage point, Harry had a clear view of what Wormtail was doing. The contents of the cauldron were bubbling as Wormtail began adding various ingredients to it. The disembodied voice, the voice which Harry guessed was Voldemort's, instructed Pettigrew every step of the way, though from the looks of things, he needn't have bothered. This was clearly something they had been preparing for a very long time, and Pettigrew was moving with a practiced ease which unnerved Harry. Wormtail was supposed to be a bumbling unskilled fool.

As Harry watched on in fear, he noticed a large snake approaching the cauldron, stopping a second only to sniff at the discarded Triwizard Cup. Wormtail paid the creature no mind, apparently used to the presence of it. It was Voldemort's pet familiar, Nagini. Harry had dreamt of it before the school year had even begun.

"It is ready, Master," Wormtail said after a few more minutes. The contents of the cauldron began to hiss and spark, sending a plume of oily black smoke into the air. Harry didn't know what was in that cauldron, but he knew it was nothing taught at Hogwarts.

"Begin…" the voice replied.

Wormtrail reached down for the bundle that lay near his feet. Carefully, he pulled the robes back, revealing the contents. Harry truly wished that he hadn't.

The… thing, inside the bundle of robes, if it couldn't even be called a thing, was grotesque. It was small and misshapen, shrivelled and raw looking, an abomination of all that was natural. it looked vaguely child like, ugly and hairless, and it laid there hunched and twisted with feeble arms and legs grasping in the air.

And then there was its face - snakelike and scaly, with two gleaming red eyes peering at Harry. Even as Wormtail lifted the creature up, clutching his neck with one of its misshapen limbs, Harry could feel the raw malevolence rolling off of it in waves.

This is what Voldemort had been reduced to.

Wormtrail placed the homunculus into the cauldron, where it disappeared beneath the crystalline surface of the liquid. There was a hissing sound followed by a small thud as the creature hit the bottom of the cauldron. Harry wanted nothing more than for it to drown.

The traitor began to speak, his voice trembling with the carefully enunciated words of power. He looked frightened, but resolved. He raised his wand into the air as he called out into the night - "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

A flash of magic lit up the graveyard, and a grave near Harry cracked in half. A thin vortex of bone dust drifted up upon Wormtail's command, and with a flick, he deposited the dust into the cauldron. The crystalline surface of the liquid roiled upon contact, hissing and sputtering with the smoke now an unnatural blue.

Again, Harry wished for the creature to drown. In that moment, he wanted nothing more in the entire world than for that to happen, not even the Triwizard Cup, but Harry knew he would not be so fortunate.

Wormtail began to whimper, muttering nonsensically under his breath. He reached into his robes and pulled out a long, black dagger. Its blade looked to have been made out of obsidian, while the hilt was of finely crafted silver. He held out his other hand, and Harry had a sick feeling in the bottom of his gut that he knew something unspeakable was about to happen.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!" Wormtail called out, beckoning to the night. At the same moment, he swung down with the blade at his own outstretched hand. With barely a sound other than Wormtail's muffled-but-anguished scream, the hand was lopped cleanly off, falling down into the cauldron, which then began to sputter viciously.

Harry was too shocked to look away. The fact that this man had just lopped off his own hand… Wormtail approached him, clutching the bloody stump to his body, but still focused on the task at hand. He still clutched the obsidian blade in his hand, and Harry began thrashing around in the ropes, trying to break free. If Wormtail had taken his own hand in one swing, there was no knowing what Wormtail would take from him.

Gasping and moaning slightly, Wormtail stopped in front of Harry. Once more, the traitor began to mutter a long incantation. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"

Harry shut his eyes, expecting the worst, but it didn't come. Instead, he felt a slight stinging in his arm as Wormtail dragged the length of the blade down it, causing it to bleed freely. The blade had been so sharp that he had barely noticed. Harry really wished he had carried Sirius's Christmas gift on him. It had been a magical penknife that could undo any knot, and he would surely have been able to free himself with it.

The blood began to drip down his elbow, and Wormtail fumbled for a moment, sheathing the dagger and pulling out a glass vial. Being one handed had not made the task any easier, but regardless, he held the vial underneath the trickling stream of blood, collecting it until the vial was completely filled.

With more pained breaths, Wormtail staggered back to the cauldron and dumped the contents of the vial into it. Instantly, the liquid turned a blinding white, flaring up out of the brim of the cauldron. Wormtail, finished with the ritual, slumped to the ground, cradling the stump of his arm, the ritual dagger tossed casually onto the ground.

The contents of the cauldron continued to sputter and simmer, spewing visceral white smoke and diamond-like liquid in all directions. The vapor hung heavy in the air, even as Harry tried to turn his eyes away from the blinding light. Again, Harry wished for the creature to have drowned in the liquid.

All at once, it stopped. The plume of smoke drifted off into the air, and the substance inside the cauldron boiled and burned up. And, standing within the cauldron was a man, pale and thin, yet menacing.

His face was serpentine, and where a normal nose would have been, there were two slits like a snake's. And the red eyes, they were the eyes of someone who had cheated death, demon-like and terrifying. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that this was Voldemort, but he looked nothing like what he had known him to look like when he was younger.

Voldemort stepped out of the cauldron, stark naked, yet without a care in the world. It was an image that would haunt Harry for the rest of his life. Casually, Voldemort stood, first looking at Harry tied up to the statue, and then back towards Wormtail, who was now grovelling on the ground.

"Robe me," Voldemort commanded. Wormtail whimpered, but complied, picking up the bundle of robes that had originally contained Voldemort. With one hand, he struggled to pull them over Voldemort's body, but the Dark Lord seemed faintly amused by it. Wormtail did manage to do it after a minute of struggle.

Voldemort then began examining his own body, now that he was clothed. His fingers were long and spindly, and he carefully brought his left hand up to his face, where he then used a finger nail to cut into his cheek. The wound bled for all of a second before it closed up.

Satisfied, Voldemort turned towards Nagini, who was coiled up nearby. He bent down, and in an oddly docile motion, he began to gently pet the snake's head. It hissed in pleasure for a few seconds, but Voldemort eventually turned his attention back towards Wormtail.

Standing up once more, Voldemort reached into the pocket of the robes and brought forth his wand, his old wand of yew and phoenix feather. It was the same wand that had never been recovered after he had fallen, and the same wand that shared a core with Harry's. He ran one pale, spindly finger down the length of it, caressing it gently, before looking down where Wormtail lay on the ground.

"My lord," Wormtail said with a painful gasp, "My lord, you said… you promised…"

"Give me your arm," Voldemort commanded.

"You are generous, my lord, so generous," Wormtail said, presenting the Dark Lord with his bleeding stump.

"Your other arm, Wormtail," said Voldemort, his voice cold and unforgiving.

Wormtail whimpered in confusion for a second, but he did as he was told. Voldemort grabbed onto the arm, and with a quick motion, pulled up the sleeve of Wormtail's robe, revealing the Dark Mark that glistened upon his flesh. The tattoo was completely black, with the visage of a skull with a snake coming out of the mouth.

Gingerly, Voldemort pressed a single bony finger down into the Mark, eliciting a gasp of pain from Wormtail. "It won't be long now," Voldemort said softly. "My followers have been called. We will see who comes crawling on their knees, begging for mercy, and we will see who amongst them will run away in fear upon feeling their Mark active for the first time in over a decade."

Wormtail continued to whimper before him, but Voldemort seemed determined to let the rat animagus stew in the pain. Instead, Voldemort turned his attention solely on Harry.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said, rolling the name upon his tongue. "You stand upon the remains of my father. He was a muggle, and a fool, much like your own dear mother. But, they had their uses, did they not? Your mother died protecting you. And I killed my father, and now, you have seen with your own eyes, how useful he has proved himself to be in death."

Voldemort began to pace around in a circle, as if he was trying to get a feel for the distinctly human action which had eluded him for the past thirteen years. Nagini paced with him, trailing by at his feet.

"You see that house upon the hillside there?" Voldemort asked, gesturing at the hillside manor. "That's where my father lived. My mother, a witch, fell in love with him, solely because of his good looks. My father abandoned her when she revealed what she was…He left her before I was even born, and she died giving birth to me. I grew up in a muggle orphanage, unaware of my heritage, but I knew I was different. I could speak to snakes… hurt people with a mere thought… Ah, listen to me, talking to you about ancient history. My true family is arriving."

The night was suddenly filled with the sound of several wizard appearing via apparition, their cloaks swishing in the air as they approached their master. One by one, they got on their knees and groveled before the Dark Lord, begging forgiveness. Each one of them wore a white mask, hiding their identity, but the Dark Lord knew who each and every one of them was.

Harry lost count of how many Death Eaters appeared. Twenty or twenty-five in total, Harry wasn't sure. Each one arrived and bowed before retreating, forming a loose circle around Voldemort as they awaited others to arrive. After ten minutes or so, Voldemort determined that no more of them would be coming. During this, Wormtail continued groan in pain near Voldemort's side, but he was still ignored. Instead, Voldemort turned his attention to the circle of Death Eaters.

"You answer my call as if it were yesterday," he said in a soft voice. It was barely above a whisper, but Harry still managed to hear it perfectly. Each Death Eater seemed to shiver upon hearing the voice, and Harry would admit that it was quite unsettling.

"Thirteen years… thirteen long years since we have last met, my Death Eaters. We are still united under the Dark Mark, or _are_ we?"

Voldemort began to pace around the circle, looking at each and every one of the Death Eaters. "I can smell your guilt. Taste it. Each and every one of you here is guilty. Each and every one of you has arrived here healthy and with their powers intact, such prompt responses, I will admit. But, I ask myself, why had none of you thought to search for me? Surely, you did not think, I, who has delved deeper into the arcane magics than any man alive or dead, was defeated at the hands of an infant? You, who have sworn eternal loyalty, thought me gone for good?"

Voldemort paused and turned on the spot. "I shall answer myself. You believed me broken, that I would not rise again. You slipped in back amongst my enemies, pleading innocence or ignorance… you are all equally guilty."

Slowly, Voldemort began to pace in the other direction, "How could you believe that I would not return... You know of some of the steps I have taken to protect myself from death, you have seen the proof of my power time and time again. I _am_ mightier than any wizard living…"

"And I answer myself again. Perhaps you believed an even greater power yet existed, one that would vanquish even the great Lord Voldemort. Perhaps they pay allegiance to the champion of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"

The Death Eaters hissed at the name, while others shifted uncomfortably and shook their heads.

"I am disappointed," Voldemort said simply. One of the Death Eaters suddenly flung himself forward, prostrating himself before the Dark Lord.

"Forgive me!" the man begged. "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

"Crucio!" Voldemort shouted, laughing all the while as the man began to thrash under the curse. He writhed in pain, and the shouts of agony would surely travel across into the nearby neighborhood. It was clear that no one would be coming to rescue Harry if they hadn't already, but perhaps the muggles would call it in… It was a thin hope, but it was as much as he could do at the moment.

Voldemort let off the curse after a moment, releasing the Death Eater from the pain. "Get up, Avery. You have the audacity to ask for forgiveness? I want thirteen years of repayment from you before I would even consider forgiveness. Wormtail here has already begun to pay off his debt, have you not?"

Wormtail continued to sob, but he was now looking up at his master, hope apparent in his eyes.

"You returned to me, but out of fear, not loyalty. You feared that your past would finally catch up to you. You deserve this pain, Wormtail, just as you deserve the scorn of the entire world, do you not?"

"Yes master," Wormtail said, still clutching his arm in pain. It was a surprise that he was still even conscious after the dismemberment.

"Yet, you helped me when everyone else fled. You helped me return to my body." Voldemort seemed like he was almost complementing Wormtail, but then his tone changed. "But, I do not forget what brought you here. You betrayed your friends for a pat on the back. You are truly worthless, yet what does that make the others around me? Traitorous though you are, you helped me, and never let it be said that Lord Voldemort does not reward his followers."

Raising his wand, Voldemort twirled it through the air, conjuring a streaming of silver vapor. It hung in the air, glistening in the moonlight, as Voldemort began to shape its form with a delicate twist of his wrist. Slowly, the vapor began to condense and take form. It wriggled and writhed under Voldemort's control as the metal began to take a solid shape in the form of a hand. Then, with one final motion, Voldemort affixed the hand onto Wormtail's bleeding stump.

Wormtail's stopped writhing in pain almost immediately. With his two beady eyes, he peered at his new hand, staring in disbelief at the silver metal that was now attached seamlessly to his arm. Carefully, he experimented with it, testing his control of the fingers. One by one, his fingers curled up until he was holding a fist, and with a jubilant cry, he smashed the fist down into the nearest headstone, shattering it instantly.

"It is beautiful, my lord," said Wormtail, rushing forward to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robe. "Thank you, thank you!"

"Let's hope your loyalty never wavers again," Voldemort said coldly, taking a step back away from the grovelling traitor. "I will not conjure a silver head for you, once you've lost this one. No doubt it would be an improvement, however…"

There were a few chuckles of amusement from amongst the Death Eater ranks, and Voldemort zoned in on one immediately. He approached the man, forcing him to bow with his mere presence.

"Lucius, my most devoted follower," Voldemort whispered. "I see that you have not renounced the old ways. The world at large thinks you a respected politician and businessman. You are still willing to take the lead in a round of Muggle-hunting, I trust?"

Lucius nodded his head once but otherwise said nothing.

"That is good, yes," Voldemort continued. "But, you never did try to find me. Your stunt at the Quidditch World Cup was amusing, I will admit. However, perhaps your attention would have been better directed elsewhere, such as finding and aiding your master… your master which you had sworn eternal loyalty to? Instead, you and several others ran at the first sight of my Mark."

"My lord, if there had been any sign, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have immediately -"

"There were more than whispers and more than a few signs," Voldemort snapped, cutting Lucius Malfoy off. "Wormtail here managed to follow them easily enough, so you are trying to tell me that the most connected man in the Ministry, a man who held the Minister's own ear, had never heard _any_ of the rumblings and rumors about a dark presence lurking deeping in the forests of Albania. People went missing, animals feared the place, and yet an intelligent man, who prides himself on the purity of his blood, had not even had a single thought or speculation… You are a disappointment to me. I shall expect better of you in the future, if you wish to count yourself amongst my devoted."

"Of course my lord," Lucius said, bowing even deeper. "You are merciful…"

Voldemort turned his attention away from Lucius, instead focusing on the circular formation that his followers stood in. He slowly paced around, before stopping at a gap in the ranks. "The Lestranges should be standing here," Voldemort whispered. "They are in Azkaban at the moment. They were loyal. They chose imprisonment rather than renouncing me and claiming innocence. I will break open Azkaban, and they will be rewarded beyond anything they could dream. The Dementors will join us, and I'll recall the exiled giants. Before long, all of my devoted servants will be returned to me…"

Voldemort continued walking around the circle. Some Death Eaters he passed without making a comment at all. Others who he deemed worthy of personal attention, he addressed.

"Macnair," he said. "Wormtail tells me that you are executing dangerous beasts for the Ministry. Continue to follow me, and you will have better victims than that…"

"Thank you, my Lord," Macnair replied as he bowed deeply.

The next fifteen minutes continued in the same vain. Voldemort either reprimanded or praised the actions of a Death Eater in his thirteen years of absence. He also commented on a few of the missing members, some of which had been killed, while others were still in Azkaban. A handful of others did not show up at all, much to Voldemort's displeasure. He promised a quick death to all those who had forsaken his Mark.

Voldemort had just finished pacing the circle, stopping right in front of the statue Harry was still tied to. Harry had burned every name that Voldemort said into his memory, but he was beyond terrified. He knew there was a high likelihood that he would not be surviving the night.

"Master," Lucius Malfoy said, once again kneeling before his master. "We all wish to know how this miracle has come to be, how you have managed to return to us."

Voldemort looked at Lucius and a bemused smile appeared on his serpentine face. "Ah, and what a story it is. It, of course, stars myself, and our esteemed guest of the night, Harry Potter!"

Voldemort waved a hand over at Harry, indicating the trussed up wizard to those who might not have noticed him to begin with. There were a few murmurs of surprise, but they immediately quieted so Voldemort could continue.

"Ever since I was a young boy, walking through the hallways of Hogwarts, I had dreams of immortality. I had experimented with various spells, dug through archives that had not been touched in hundreds of years, craving the knowledge I so desperately sought. There were different methods, some of which are known to the world at large - the Philosopher's Stone… vampirism…"

Pausing a second to collect his thoughts, Voldemort continued the story. "I admit, my knowledge of Alchemy is insufficient towards the ultimate goal of the Elixir of Life. That brand of magic is outdated, and the gains too minimal for dedicated study. I always have been a master of the Dark Arts, and that is where I sought my answer. And, that is where I found the first solution, the first of many I had hoped to employ in my efforts to conquer the mortal coil. That information is not so easily earned, but my presence here tonight is proof enough that I have succeeded."

"That leads us back to our guest… Harry Potter… The Boy-Who-Lived. The Potter's had long been nuisances, thorns in the side of our cause, and one night, I sought to wipe them out like we had done to so many other families. I had defeated James Potter in single combat quickly enough, and when I found the mother, the mudblood, she did not even raise her wand against me. She attempted to shield her child with her body, as if that were going to stop me… She begged for me to kill her, in the end, if I would spare her son. It had not been my intention - mudbloods like her are beneath my notice, unimportant, but she begged me none the less. And so, I struck her down like I had James."

"I turned my wand on baby Harry next, wanting to finish the meddlesome Potter line once and for all. The Killing Curse is quick and painless, and I offered the last member of the ancient line a clean death, but I had not foreseen the consequences of his mother's death. She had sacrificed herself, freely giving her life for his without even fighting back, an act that I had not taken into account. Her sacrifice invoked an ancient magic, and it protected Harry from harm. It was a protection I had not considered possible at the time… I could not even touch him."

"But now..." Voldemort said, raising a long pale finger up to Harry's forehead. Harry screamed in sudden agony as Voldemort grasped his head. Laughing softly, Voldemort continued the story. "Now, his protection is gone. I miscalculated, I admit it. The Killing Curse had been deflected, a feat not seen before, and likely will never be seen again. I was hit by my own curse. Pain beyond pain enveloped me, as my mind, my soul was ripped from my body. I was less than a spirit, less than a ghost, but, I was still alive. What I was, even I do not know, I had delved into magic no other wizard had ever recorded… A wraith, a shadow of a wraith, I do not know. I fled, I fled to Albania, where I had spent much time in my travels. I had experimented with several of my spells there, and there, I had found solitude, waiting for the moment when I would return, but always, I was in constant pain, lingering between our world and the spirit world."

"As it turns out, the magics I had evoked to gain my immortality had worked, protecting me from death. One or more of my experiments had been successful. I too, survived the Killing Curse that night. But I was weaker than the weakest creature in this form, unable to work a wand, and any spell that could save me would require one."

"I waited in constant pain, urging myself to not crossover, willing the very existence of my being to remain on this plane. I expected at least one of my loyal Death Eaters to stumble upon me, one of them would easily be able to restore me to a body. I waited…"

Voldemort let the silence hand in the air, letting the disappointment in his voiced melt into every single one of his followers.

"In this form, this wraith, I retained the ability of possession. I dared not go near where any humans would be plentiful, in fear of an Auror coming across me…I possessed animals. Snakes, of course, were the easiest, but their bodies were ill suited towards magic, and their lifespans were considerably shortened in my presence."

"It was four years ago now, when the first servant found me. A young wizard, foolish and pliable, wandered across my home in the forest. It was a stroke of luck, for he was a teacher at Hogwarts. He taught muggle studies, but he felt his real talents were with the Defense Against the Dark Arts. He sought to prove himself, and having heard the rumors about a dark presence deep in the Albanian countryside, he sought to unmake the source of this. Possessing him had been easy. I guided him forth, teaching him what he would need to know in order to hide in plain sight under Dumbledore's all-seeing gaze. The goal had been to steal the only Philosopher's Stone currently known to exist, to use its powers to restore my body, but once again, I was thwarted by Harry Potter."

Voldemort, along with all of the Death Eaters, fixed their gaze at Harry. Harry, for his part, did not flinch back. Rather, he tried to look defiant and stalwart, which couldn't have been farther from the truth.

"The servant died when I left his body. I was once again reduced to a wraith. And once again, I returned to my hiding place. I will admit, I had feared that it would take another ten years before I got another such opportunity. I had feared that I would never regain my powers. If none of my Death Eaters had bothered searching for me in the previous ten years, why would they start now?"

"Doubt filled me constantly, and I admit, this may have been my darkest hour. But a year ago a Marked servant had returned to me. Peter Pettigrew… known as Wormtail. He had faked his own death to escape justice, had been driven out of hiding by those he had once considered his friends, and decided to search for his master. He had heard the rumors, and he sought me out where I had hid myself away… He followed the rats which he has such an affinity with, and they told him of a place deep in the forest where no creature dared to go."

"It was not a smooth journey for him. No, it was quite the opposite. The search for his master had made him hungry, so he had stopped at an inn along the way. As fate would have it, a Ministry worker by the name of Bertha Jorkins was there. Desperately, Wormtail managed to convince her to follow him into the woods, away from prying eyes, and there, he overpowered her and brought her to me."

"Bertha Jorkins proved to be a great gift. With a little persuasion, I had learned that the Triwizard Tournament was at Hogwarts for the next year. She also knew of a Death Eater that would be more than willing to help me, if only I could contact him. He had escaped Azkaban, only to be imprisoned within his own mind for a dozen years by the Imperius Curse. It was he who set up the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, and it was he who had impersonated Alastor Moody for half a year, hiding under Dumbledore's nose in plain sight. It was he who had set the playing field up for tonight. He ultimately was discovered… the plan had been daring, even desperate, and I once more had to rely on Wormtail. The plan was already in motion, however."

"Wormtail's body, obviously, was ill-fit for possession. The world thought him dead, and he would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he possessed the ability, though quite poorly, to use a wand. With my careful tutelage, he managed to follow my instructions to craft me a rudimentary body. It would be enough to use while awaiting the eventual ingredients I would need for my true rebirth... The rudimentary body had required unicorn blood and snake venom from my dear Nagini… perhaps lending itself to my slightly serpentine form you see before you."

"With this rudimentary body, I embraced the feeling of being alive once more. After the torment that had been the last thirteen years, I could suffer the frail form for a while, before once more returning to my immortal form. But in the meantime, I would settle for my old body, and my old power…"

"The magic used tonight to return me to this form is an old piece of Dark Magic. Part potion, part ritual, it required three main ingredients. Flesh of the servant, bone of the father, and blood of the enemy… Wormtail was with me, of course, but the bone of the father meant I had to come here, where he was buried. The blood of the foe, however… Wormtail would have had me use any foe. I, after all, have enemies the world over. There are many that hated what we stood for back then, many of whom still do."

"Perhaps, I could have used any random wizard's blood. But I would not choose a second rate option in something this important. I may have settled for the blood of the great Albus Dumbledore, but accomplishing that feat was beyond Wormtail's capability. Perhaps, it was more fitting to use the blood of the boy who had vanquished me, the blood of the boy who had stripped me of my powers thirteen years ago. I wanted his blood, for his blood still contained the lingering protection his mother's sacrifice had once granted him…and now it resides in my veins too."

"You may be asking yourself - how to get at Harry Potter? He is notoriously well protected, better than even he knows, I think, by enchantments devised by Dumbledore long ago. A brand of magic powerful enough that I could not get near him while he was in his relations' care… And it was rare that he left those protections. And the protections at Hogwarts are just as formidable - arranging the kidnapping of a student without leaving a trace is not something that would be easily accomplished, especially not one prolific as Harry Potter."

"Then, I got the news that Harry Potter would be at the Quidditch World Cup. I had thought to kidnap him there, but my servant advised me of the risks. The bulk of the world's Aurors would be there, hundreds strong. I could have succeeded with it perhaps, but the risk of being outed so soon in this campaign was too great, not within the midst of the Ministry's forces."

"The solution had been hidden within the information that Bertha Jorkins provided. The Triwizard Tournament, of course. Harry had to be put in such a situation that he would be the cause of his own kidnapping. Portkeys and Apparition do not work with Hogwarts - that is a privilege that only the Headmaster is granted. No matter how powerful I could become, I could not get around that restriction, not without tearing down the entire school in the process, and that is not something I desire. The simple solution was to get him when he was outside the castle's bounds, but again, that's not an easily matter."

"Perhaps we could have managed it during the first task, where he was set to face off against a dragon and to steal its golden egg. That would have been too suspicious perhaps, and we were not yet ready. The Second Task would have been all too easy, but there were scrying spells set up all over the lake. More scrying spells than the Champions were aware of, to serve as protection for the Champions, should anything go awry. I could not have have penetrated past them without being detected, not in that weaker form. No, Harry Potter had to be brought before me, brought to this place of power."

"Wormtail's role in this was crucial. He had to ensure that Potter and Potter alone would make it to the center of the maze first. He used an artifact of his own make, a map of the maze that would change as the maze changed, and it tracked all of obstacles, creatures and enchantments alike, as well as the Champions. With this map, along with his animagus form, he managed to control the maze in such a way as to influence who the winner would be. The final part would be the sabotage of the portkey. This could only have been accomplished because the Triwizard Cup had been a portkey to begin with, created by Dumbledore to transport the winner from the center of the maze to the victor's plinth to celebrate their accomplishment. Altering an already made portkey was the key to this, and as you see, here he is."

Voldemort turned his attention back to Harry. "Crucio!" Voldemort yelled, slamming the torture curse into Harry. Pain beyond pain filled him, like a thousand thumbscrews burying themselves into his body, all while having his limbs pulled apart and set on fire. Harry wanted it to end, he wanted to blackout, to feel no more...

As quickly as the spell had consumed him, it was released. "You see, Harry, your mother's sacrifice will no longer protect you. On an equal ground, I do not think you stand a chance against me, even in this new, untested body. Your performance in the tournament has been exemplary, but ultimately pointless. Tonight, we match the might of Lord Voldemort against Harry Potter, Triwizard Champion, the Boy-who-lived!"

Voldemort slashed his wand, cutting through the ropes that had bound Harry to the statue. He fell unceremoniously to the ground, still moaning in pain from the backlash of the Unforgivable Curse. At least now, he could claim that he had experienced all three of them.

Harry was beyond exhausted. It felt like it would take a month's rest just to feel normal again. His body had been battered and bruised from the maze, and having been trussed up in rope for an hour had not helped him in the slightest. Add in the Cruciatus Curse and a heavy thirst, and Harry knew he was in serious trouble.

"I trust you have been taught to duel, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, turning to Wormtail. "Give Potter back his wand. I am going to give him a fair chance. He will be allowed to fight, and in the end, we will see who the better is. I want no doubt left after tonight."

Harry was still prone on the ground, panting for breath. He heard, rather than saw, Wormtail toss his wand in his general direct. It bounced off the ground near by, tumbling about five feet away from him. Harry, reaching out blindly, grabbed for the wand. The Death Eater's collectively laughed at his struggles. He must have been quite the sight.

Wand now in hand, Harry pulled himself up to his feet, wobbling unsteadily as he did so. Glancing around, Harry noticed that the Death Eaters had closed the circle, filling in the gaps that had been left by their absent compatriots.

Harry decided there and then that he would take as many of them out as he could. They were packed tightly enough together that a stray spell could easily hit multiples of them. A fireball could potentially catch a few of them by surprise, and Voldemort would likely order them to not attack back.

"The niceties of protocol must be observed," Voldemort said casually. "First, we bow. Bow before your better."

Not willing to comply, Harry took up a defensive stance, bringing his wand to bear against the Dark Lord.

"I said, BOW!" Voldemort whipped his wand up, and suddenly a huge pressure was crushing down on Harry, causing him to buckle forward. "That's better. Now, we begin!"

Voldemort was quick on his feet, bouncing lightly as he maneuvered around the circle. He wanted to give his new body a workout. Thirteen years was a long time to go without a body, and he wanted to get all the kinks and rust off.

It was clear from the onset that Voldemort was toying with Harry. Without even casting a spell, Voldemort had put Harry on the defensive. Harry, for his part, was running through all the spells he knew in his mind, wondering if any of them would have any effect at all. He was exhausted and fatigued, and he knew he'd only get a few good ones off before he was overcome. He wanted to make them count.

Luckily. Voldemort seemed more than willing to allow Harry the first move. He wanted to give him a "fair" chance, and then rip it out right from under him, to prove once and for all that he was the greater of the two.

Harry went for his big guns right out of the gates. Eschewing accuracy in favor of raw destruction, Harry began pelting the area with bombardment hexes and fireballs. He was intent on destroying as much as possible, and in the havoc, perhaps tag a few Death Eaters.

Voldemort was having none of it. While smiling the entire time, he casually flicked his wand to and fro, minimizing the impact that every spell was having, if not outright cancelling them. With the occasional fireball, he would ensorcell it with a blue bubble, before flinging it up into the air, where it would harmlessly dissipate in a shower of sparks.

During this entire destructive revelry, Voldemort did not cast a single offensive spell. It was not because he had been put on the back foot. Truth be told, he had not even broken a sweat, not even metaphorically, as his new body did not seem to have sweat glands. He was enjoying the thrill of once more feeling the flow of magic around him, and he enjoyed feeling his own power at work, denying his opponent any hope of victory.

The Death Eaters standing around the two duelists were taking the brunt of the damage, but even then, it was minimal. A bombardment hex would be sent straight at them, but the spell would be deflected our countered outright with Voldemort's quick wandwork. It was frustrating to Harry, and no matter how quickly he changed up his playbook, he couldn't get anything through.

Five minutes had passed before Voldemort decided he had had enough amusement for the day. His wand shot up vertically, parrying a dark mote of lightning that Harry had conjured, before sweeping outwards, emitting an arc trail of ghostly spheres that closed in on Harry, seemingly bypassing every defensive attempt.

The spheres collided with Harry's torso, immediately sapping Harry's strength. The will to fight left Harry completely, and he sagged to the ground, all but unconscious. It had been a quick, yet vicious spell, a spell that Voldemort had picked up on his world-tour after graduating Hogwarts. It was not something a mere schoolboy would have learned to counter, and thus, his opponent was incapacitated.

Voldemort strolled forward, very amused by the turn of events. Harry's continual barrage of spells had been impressive, but ultimately futile. He had been left standing completely untouched, and his Death Eaters suffered only minor injuries. Harry was quite powerful for his age, but he lacked finesses and he lacked proper training. If it were not for the humiliating defeat he had suffered thirteen years ago, he might have offered to let the boy join his ranks in time.

"Are you going to kill me now?" Harry asked, clutching at his ribs. The fact that he was even still conscious was quite impressive.

"No, Harry. Killing you would be too easy. I seek repayment for the thirteen years you have stolen from me, and merely killing you would not be enough. I am going to destroy you and everything you hold dear. I am going to destroy the Ministry. I am going to take control of Hogwarts. And the best part is, I am not even going to lift a finger to do it. Mark my words. Thirteen years since I've fallen, and the world still fears my name. I tell you now, the world will tremble at the mere thought of my return. I will only need to watch as it happens."

With that, Voldemort reached down towards Harry and grabbed him by the neck. Then, with a feat of strength that belied his serpentine body, pulled him up off the ground in one motion. Finally, Voldemort performed the coup de grâce, taking hold of the obsidian ritual dagger that had been used in his rebirth, and jamming it straight through Harry's chest.

Almost as an afterthought, Voldemort casually strolled over to where the Triwizard Cup had lain, partially forgotten. "Lucky for you," Voldemort said, carefully choosing his words. "The portkey that will return you to the Champion's dais is still active. Enjoy your victory… it may be the last one you will ever know."

Voldemort tossed Harry's broken, bleeding form onto the Cup, and with a muttered word, he activated the remaining portkey destination. With a flash, Harry's dying form disappeared entirely from the graveyard, only for it to reappear amongst a flurry of activity. The last thing Harry saw before blacking out was the hundred aurors tearing through the Maze, practically having leveled it, and Dumbledore's worried and angry look as he saw Harry's bloody and beaten form appear out of the air.


	22. Chapter 22

Harry slipped in and out of consciousness as various officials ran around nearby, trying to figure out what was going on. He saw Dumbledore's bearded face lean down near him, running his wand over Harry's body and diagnosing the wounds and bruises. Harry's hearing was fuzzy, muted, and he did not hear the words that left the headmaster's mouth. But, he could discern the intent well enough.

"Voldemort," Harry said simply, still struggling to retain consciousness. He was vaguely aware that the blade that had pierced through his body had been pulled out - was that what had awoken him? He then noted the presence of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, at Dumbledore's side, wearing a look of incredulity. Before Harry could muster the strength to speak again, he fell unconscious once more.

* * *

The second time Harry awoke, he was in the Hospital wing, which was his home away from home. He didn't consider a year at Hogwarts successful unless he finished the year there.

He had been woken up by the sound of loud voices arguing in his vicinity. Blearily, Harry reached around for his glasses, finding them on the side table near his head. As he moved, however, he felt a twinge of pain in his chest, as well a dull ache that seemed to permeate through his entire body.

Gingerly, Harry put his glasses on and pulled down the collar of his hospital gown, revealing the mark on his chest where he had been run through by the ritual blade. There was a nasty looking scar, but at least he was in one piece. He had honestly expected to die in that graveyard, but Voldemort had let him go on purpose.

Sighing to himself, Harry zoned in on the two people arguing. The first thing he noticed was that there was actually a lot of people in the room, and no matter how hard Madam Pomfrey was protesting, they were largely ignoring her. The two people arguing, however, were Cornelius Fudge and Bartemus Crouch. Dumbledore was standing nearby, watching it play out intently.

"I cannot believe this! Will not believe this," Fudge shouted. "He is not back! He cannot be!"

"It is not about belief, Minister," Crouch retorted, nearly as angry but better at controlling it. "You cannot just accuse a young man of deceit like this. You saw with your own eyes, just like I did, Potter disappearing for over an hour, and then reappearing a bloody mess. From his own lips, he said it was You-know-who who did this to him."

"He was in a state of shock!" the Minister yelled. "He had a big bloody blade sticking out of his chest! He was clearly delusional from the pain and the loss of blood! Anything said under such a situation cannot be taken seriously!"

"That is just your opinion, Minister." Crouch replied dismissively. "You are not the head of the DMLE."

"Nor are you!" Fudge yelled again. "Not anymore, and never again if I have my say!"

"There are laws in place for this sort of occasion. Protocols to follow. We have to take this situation seriously. There will be an official inquiry into this situation. Even now, the Aurors are attempting to track the Portkey, and are looking for sudden magical spikes across the country."

"Laws can be changed, altered," Fudge replied fervently. "You-know-who is dead!"

"You're wrong," Harry said, announcing his presence with a wheezing cough. His lungs were burning. "There was a ritual - one of his followers. Created a new body for him… serpentine. I only lived because he wanted me to live."

Harry coughed again and Dumbledore laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Harry. You've been through quite an ordeal."

"The Minister is calling me a liar," Harry replied. "I take offense to that."

"The dead cannot just come back," Fudge said angrily. "Another war will destroy us! I will not let that happen!"

"Don't be a fool, Minister." Dumbledore said, jumping into the conversation. "It matters not, the name behind the deed. Be it Voldemort, be it Sirius Black, be it some up-and-coming dark lord wishing to make a name, the Ministry only has one logical recourse here. They must act. A British citizen was attacked on our watch, and you have the audacity to call him a liar?"

Fudge growled "You dare -"

"Minister!" Barty said, trying to calm him down. "This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. This is a DMLE matter, which does not require the personal hand of the Minister to run. Any attempts to interfere in an investigation could be seen as a breach of law -

Fudge turned on Crouch this time. "YOU DARE!" He shouted, cutting Crouch off this time and ignoring Dumbledore. "I am the Minister for Magic! It is my duty to represent the people, and to protect our society! Law can be changed, I will make sure of this! _He is not back!_ "

"Any attempts to change the law in such a manner will be seen as tyrannical!" Crouched yelled back, raising his voice to match the Minister's. "The people would not stand for it! The Minister cannot be seen calling a fourteen year old a liar! Not with two thousand people as witness to the event!"

Dumbledore one more stepped in, but tried for a different method. "Minister, we must act," he said calmly. "Voldemort has risen once more. You cannot turn a blind eye to this. Only if we act together, present a unified front, can we hope to overcome him. We were lucky last time - I feel this time will be different. We must prepare, Cornelius!"

"Delusional, the lot of you!" Fudge said, gripping his bowler hat in his hands. "You've gone around the bend this time, you have! I will hear no more of this! The Ministry will act in its best interests, and that's final!"

Fudge walked over to Harry and reached into his robes. For a second, Harry thought the Minister was reaching for his wand. Instead, he pulled out a bulging sack of gold and tossed it onto his bedside table. "Congratulations on your victory, Mr. Potter. It was well-earned."

The Minister turned and left, seemingly unwilling to hear anything anyone else had to say, no matter how much logic they were trying to use.

"Did that really just happen?" Harry asked in confusion. "Why would I lie about this, and why won't he do anything?"

"Don't worry about him," Crouch said dismissively. "He's a politician first and foremost. He's afraid for his office. The DMLE will handle this, as it had in the past. I may not be the department head any longer, but Amelia Bones will make sure due process is observed."

"Wouldn't winning a war make him look better than ever?" Harry asked. "After the Sirius Black debacle, one would think he would need a victory to look good."

"He doesn't see it like that," Dumbledore replied. "He's blinded by his fear and is acting irrationally, something a man of his position should not be doing. It won't look good for him in the end."

Madam Pomfrey took the time to butt in and began inspecting Harry's wounds. Bandages were replaced and potions were administered under her watchful glare. "Mr. Potter, you really ought to be more careful! Basilisks and dragons and Merlin knows what else."

"I apologize of the inconvenience," Harry said rolling his eyes. "As much as I enjoy being here and seeing you, I do not fancy getting run through with a sword."

"Yes, well, you are exceedingly lucky to be alive."

"Yeah, I feel real lucky," Harry replied sourly.

Pomfrey ignored his sarcasm. "The good news is that you should make a full recovery, but it will take some time, and you will have a scar."

"Great. I'll add it to my collection."

"You will have to take it easy for the next month. You've had extreme exposure to dark magic, including the Cruciatus Curse," the nurse said with disdain. "Time is what you need to make sure you fully heal."

"So, no more heroics for at least a month. Got it."

Pomfrey huffed but returned to her office carrying the tray full of empty potion bottles.

Harry looked around at the various adults that were in the room. He wasn't in the mood to really talk or acknowledge any of them. But, he didn't see any of his friends in the room. He longed to embrace Fleur and bury his face in her hair, smelling it as if he'd never smell her again.

"Alright. What comes next?" Harry said, addressing Dumbledore. Of all the adults in the room, he as the one he respected most and the one he expected to take the lead in the upcoming fight.

"I would like to speak with in you in private, about the events of last night," Dumbledore said gravely. "I must know exactly what you saw, as to begin our preparations with as much foreknowledge as possible."

Dumbledore then turned to everyone else in the room. "Mr. Potter cannot leave the hospital wing at the moment, so that means all of you will have to clear out. You have my sincerest apologies. Mr. Crouch, you can stay."

Despite some weak protests, the various people began filing out of the room. Harry recognize around half of them. Most of the Professors were there, McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, Sinestra, Moody, Sprout and Vector. Several Ministry officials were there as well, though if there were merely spectators or there in their official capacity, Harry didn't know. There were also several individuals wearing the crimson robes that designated the Aurors. Harry found the one female Auror with pink hair to be odd, but she seemed to be chatting amicably with Moody.

As they left, Harry noticed that the Weasleys had been there as well, though they had been lost in the sea of bodies. Arthur Weasley had been talking with Amos Diggory, and Molly Weasley was urging her son Bill out, who, to Harry's surprise, was trying to engage his girlfriend Fleur in conversation.

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that. He hadn't seen her at first, and she was very hard person to miss, especially in a room full of stodgy old men. And, must to his chagrin, she seemed to be laughing at something Bill had said. She did see equally amused by Viktor Krum's reaction to something that was said as well, as Harry just noticed he was also there, but they were quickly ushered out off the room by the remaining press of bodies.

Eventually, Harry was alone with Dumbledore and Crouch. Dumbledore, for his part, did not trust the mere appearance of empty room, and cast a series of spells to make sure they were not being eavesdropped on. He did not want another Rita Skeeter incident.

Dumbledore conjured chairs for both him and Crouch, though upon glancing at Dumbledore's flamboyant taste in upholstery, Crouch transfigured his chair into something more stately and respectable.

"You have been through a terrible ordeal and have suffered great trauma," Dumbledore said gravely. "I know I am asking too much of you, but I must know what happened last night, in detail. Where were you taken, who was there, how did you escape?"

Harry sighed to himself. He already knew that he was going to be asked this. "Where do I even start?"

"After your subdual of the mirror-sphere," answered Crouch. "When you approached the Triwizard Cup - did you notice anything off, anything at all?"

Harry shook his head. "I was so relieved to have made it through the maze alive, and to have been the first to reach the center. I had not expected the portkey."

"Where did it take you?" Crouch asked. "It was meant to have brought you back outside the maze, in front of the judges."

"It brought me to the Riddle Manor - the ancestral home of Voldemort's muggle father. Specifically, the graveyard outside. It's where he had been hiding and plotting all year. Barty Jr. was the one who had been tasked with sabotaging the portkey… but Peter Pettigrew was the one who had to fill in - he was the one who located Voldemort's disembodied form-"

At the mention of his son's name, Crouch's face darkened, though it quickly turned into one of confusion. "Peter Pettigrew - that's a story you're going to have to explain to me. He's dead."

"It's a bit of a long story," Harry said. He hadn't realized that they had never told Crouch about Pettigrew. He glanced over at Dumbledore, who gave him a small nod in return. "He was my parent's secret keeper - not Sirius Black. They switched at the last moment, as no one would suspect him. But, unbeknownst to all, Pettigrew was a Death Eater. After he betrayed my parents, he ran, and Sirius Black chased after him. Pettigrew faked his own death, and everyone assumed Sirius had done it, and the evidence was damning. He eventually broke out of Azkaban to get revenge on him."

"Merlin's beard," Crouch muttered. "Why has nobody come forward with this? An innocent man, imprisoned in Azkaban on my watch?"

"On the word of a few thirteen year olds?" Dumbledore asked curiously. "You saw just now what the Ministry's reaction would have been. The minister would have had Sirius Black given the Dementor's kiss in an instant."

"And he would have been overstepping his bounds," Crouch said. "He does not command the Dementor's by law - that is Amelia Bones. Has no one a backbone?"

"There's also very little proof," Dumbledore said, looking very weary of that fact. "Pettigrew escaped, and you know as well as I do that Veritaserum and witness testimony alone is not conclusive evidence."

Crouch grunted in acknowledgement. "That does not mean we could not reopen the case. We would need probably cause, however. I am not the head of the DMLE, but perhaps the DIMC could be used… but now is not the time for that conversation."

"I agree," Dumbledore said. "Harry, if you could continue, please."

Harry nodded his head. Then, closing his eyes, Harry began to recall the events that were so fresh in his memory. "Pettigrew was there waiting for me - disarmed me while I was confused and disorientated. It looked liked he was extremely out of breath as if he had been running - which might be true if he had to set up the portkey and then race back to the graveyard in time for me... He tied me up to a statue while he prepared a ritual. There was a massive cauldron, bubbling with something that I could not identify. He also carried a bundle of robes, and in those robes laid the creature that Voldemort was using as a body. It was ugly, twisted, the size of a baby or small child. I called it a homunculus in my mind, but I don't know if that's correct. Pettigrew then put him into the massive cauldron, and then performed a ritual. He said some words and -"

"What are these words, exactly," Dumbledore said, giving Harry an alarmed look.

"Um, let's see." Harry said, wracking his brain. "'Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.' He said that, and then exacted bone from Voldemort's father's grave. That's part of the reason that the ritual was held there. Oh, and Voldemort admitted to having killed him."

"Interesting," Dumbledore muttered to himself. "Please, continue."

"Right. Uh… 'Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master.' Pettigrew, then, sort of cut off his own hand and dropped it into the cauldron."

"He cut off his own hand?" Crouch repeated.

"Yeah, I could hardly believe it. I expected that he'd kill me for the next step, but he didn't. He said, 'blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.' He cut my arm and took my blood. That was the final ingredient, and a minute later, Voldemort was standing in the cauldron."

"What did he look like?" Dumbledore asked gravely.

"He looked different than he did when he was young. His face was snake-like, and he had no nose, just slits. And red eyes… Scary and piercing."

"A side-effect of the ritual, perhaps. As far as I know, he looked completely normal up until his downfall. But go on, what happened next?"

"He called in his Death Eaters, using Pettigrew's Dark Mark. And Pettigrew was still bleeding out from the missing hand. It took a few minutes for the Death Eaters to arrive, but eventually they did. Voldemort was angry at them, saying that there had been ample evidence that he was still alive, and they could have easily found him. But they didn't, not for thirteen years. He tortured a few of them with the Cruciatus Curse, and then accepted renewed oaths of fealty."

"This is very important Harry," Dumbledore said, listening intensly. "Did he call out any of them by name? My intelligence said that he never gathered all of his Death Eaters at once, so not one of them would know all the others…"

"He called many of them out, yes. Uh, there was Mulciber, Avery, Nott, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle… you know, the fathers of all of the Slytherins in my year… There was twenty-five or so. Uh, maybe if we used your pensieve, you could identify the rest?"

"Yes, that's a good idea," Dumbledore said. "I suspect many of them are those who had claimed the Imperius Curse,"

"There were over a hundred who claimed that," Crouch said. "Potter said there was only twenty-five."

"Twenty-five who have the Dark Mark," Dumbledore clarified. "Undoubtedly, many who claimed the Imperius were in fact unlawfully controlled. But we now have proof of his remaining followers, though I fully expected his first order of business is to begin recruiting and expanding his diminished ranks."

"He did mention that he would be planning a breakout of Azkaban, as well as recruiting the giants and Dementors."

"That is to be expected," Dumbledore said, sighing at the fact. "What happened next?"

"He talked for a bit, like you'd expect a villain in a book to, explaining how he had survived death, and how he tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone."

Dumbledore was suddenly very interested. "Did he say how he survived?"

"Not specifically," Harry replied. "Uh, he said something along the lines that one or more of his experiments had worked. It sounded like he wasn't even sure which one of them it was, to be honest. He said he delved deeper into magics long lost - does that help?"

"It may narrow it down a bit," Dumbledore said. "That's a whole discussion of its own, however. Please, continue."

"Eventually, Voldemort said he wanted to duel me, to prove once and for all that he was the greater wizard. He had Pettigrew give me my wand back, and then we dueled. Well, he hit me with the Cruciatus Curse, and then wiped the floor with me. I tried to catch some of the Death Eaters with fireballs and such, but I don't think it was very effective. Eventually, he hit me with some spell I didn't recognize - it homed in on me and bypassed my shields. It felt like my insides were on fire, and it completed sapped my energy and will to fight. I thought he was going to kill me then, but he said that killing me would not be enough repayment for the thirteen years he had lost. He said that he would destroy everything I held dear, and then he would watch as the wizarding world tore itself apart, and he would be there to pick up the pieces. I suspect he knew how Fudge would react. Oh, and then he stabbed me through the chest with the ritual knife and had me use the portkey back to the school, and then I guess I woke up here."

Both Crouch and Dumbledore stayed silent for a few good minutes, contemplating Harry's words. Finally, after an almost uncomfortable amount of time, Dumbledore spoke up. "You said that Pettigrew used your blood in the ritual?"

"Yeah. Afterwards, Voldemort was able to touch me without feeling pain, though it hurt when he touched _me_. He said that he now had my mother's protection as well. Oh, and he also said that he had contemplated taking your blood, as it may have been, in his words, 'adequate', but ultimately decided the difficulty of the task to not be worth it when my blood would be more symbolic."

"That is grave news," Dumbledore said after mulling the words over. "If he has truly taken your blood, that means you will no longer be safe at your relatives. Those protections were based on familial blood magic, and I fear they would now no longer work. Alternate safe housing will have to be established."

"The Ministry would be more than willing to shelter Mr. Potter," Crouch replied, still digesting the information.

"With Fudge's adamant refusal to believe in Voldemort's return?" said Dumbledore, leveling a disbelieving look at Crouch. "Also, there is no telling how many spies he will have within the Ministry, unwilling or otherwise. No, I will see to Harry's safety for the summer personally. "

"So, you mean to seek the revival of your Order of the Phoenix?" Crouch asked casually.

Harry would have sworn that he saw a look of surprise come across of Dumbledore's face, but it was quickly gone. "Ah, so you know of my organization?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully.

"Naturally," Crouch replied. "We were very thorough back then, but not thorough enough. We only knew of its existence and that you were the leader of a resistance group. We would not claim to know each individual member, but we were aware of a few, and even indirectly supported some of your actions."

Dumbledore nodded. "Many of our number were lost during the war. I do plan to start it again, but I will have to recruit new members to fill the ranks, Trustworthy members, some with important jobs to act as eyes and ears…"

Crouch, perhaps for the first time in his life, snorted. "I have told you that my life's goal is to see Voldemort dead and gone for good. I have no hope of higher political office, not at this point in my career, so I am willing to do whatever it takes to see it done. My position would allow us possible access to foreign allies that you would not normally be able to."

Giving a heavy, weary sigh, Dumbledore nodded. "Well, Bartemius, it seems like you're finally going to get what you so very desired. You've sacrificed your family and your career in the hopes that one day Voldemort will finally meet his end. I would have you be the first new member to join the Order of the Phoenix, if that is your desire."

The head boss for the Department of International Magical Cooperation suddenly turned very serious again. "We've never been friends, Dumbledore. There were times that I could barely stomach being near you. I will join this organization, but you will not be my boss. I will not take orders from you. I would join as an ally and I will give you whatever information I can gather, but if you think I will be attending meetings and taking secret oaths, you're wrong. In fact, I'd rather knowledge of my involvement in this to be as minimal as possible, with as few people knowing about my role as is logical. I would not have word trickle back to You-know-who or the Minister - I would not like my feet cut out from under me before we've gotten anything done, and I think my position within the Ministry is too important to risk."

"As much as the loss of your potential friendship pains me, I can agree to these terms," Dumbledore said solemnly. "If this is what you wish, it can be done. Perhaps it is even for the best. For now, I think the prudent action will be to observe any possible changes within the Ministry and to reach out to possible allies. We also have to get the word out about Voldemort's return, but if the Minister's reaction is any indication, there will be a lot of denial and resistance, despite the facts being openly on display."

Crouch nodded his head. "I will start my efforts as soon as it is prudent. I will also attempt to get Amelia Bones on our side so she knows what is going on. I believe she will be amenable, especially if we get her the list of Death Eaters from Mr. Potter's memory."

"I agree," Dumbledore said. "If the DMLE is willing to work to its fullest extent within the law and ignore all of Fudge's attempts to stymie progress, then Amelia and her Aurors will be vital to our cause. I will also make sure we get those names. I, too, am curious to see exactly how deep and far the breach of security went…"

"Good, good," Crouch said to himself. "Time is of the essence, so I will get started immediately. The sooner we can begin to counteract Him, the better. I believe I will take my leave now."

"I'll bid you a good day then," Dumbledore said. Crouch gave the slightest of nods before getting up from his chair and exiting the hospital wing. That just left Dumbledore and Harry alone.

"I feel I owe you an apology," Dumbledore said, the sadness evident in his voice.

"Sir?" Harry asked in confusion.

"It seems I have made too many mistakes this past year," the headmaster said tiredly. "I have underestimated Voldemort. He managed to infiltrate the castle with Barty Jr, posing as one of my closest friends without my knowledge. And then Pettigrew manage to alter the portkey I had personally made…"

"You couldn't have known," Harry said. "No one is perfect."

"That is true, but I can't afford to be anything less than perfect." A great weariness seemed to overcome Dumbledore, and he slumped backwards in his chair. "I am old, Harry. Too old to be fighting another war. Mistakes made by people in positions such as mine are far more grave than those of every-day witches and wizards. I underestimated Voldemort. I did not know the extent of his desperation. I had searched all of Voldemort's supporters houses, many of whom you undoubtedly saw at his rebirth, but I had not thought Voldemort would use his Muggle father's house. His whole life, he tried to distance himself from this Muggle roots, instead taking solace in his mother's connection to Salazar Slytherin…"

"There's no way you could have known," said Harry. "The house was protected by magic. If the Aurors couldn't track the portkey that took me there, there's no way that Rita would have been able to get there. Plus, he did need the bone of his father for his ritual - you couldn't have known that."

"You are kind for saying so, but it does not ease the burden of guilt," Dumbledore said. He was looking every bit of his hundred plus years. "I will research into this ritual, but I do not have high hopes of discovering it. But, if I were to discover it, perhaps the knowledge would give us insight into undoing it. Alas, that will have to wait until the summer, when my duties to the school will be lessened… I fear I will not be getting much sleep for the foreseeable future…"

"Sir… about the summer," Harry said tentatively.

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said. He circled the tip of his beard around his finger, giving it a little curl. "I have an idea about that. I can't promise anything yet, but if it goes through, I daresay you would be agreeable to it. Worst case scenario, an exception could be made for you to stay at Hogwarts, but I don't think that will be necessary."

Harry nodded, trying to hide his smile. "Do you think my relatives may be in danger? With no more protection, they may be attacked, even if I'm not there. They don't know much about our world, but my aunt likely knows enough about Voldemort to know that his return is a very bad thing."

"I will make sure to inform them of what has transpired," Dumbledore replied. "Precautions can be taken, and, if necessary, relocation can be a possibility."

"That's good," Harry said quietly. "I don't like them that much, but I'd rather them not get hurt or killed. Not when we could have done something to prevent it."

"I agree," Dumbledore said softly. "However, your protection will be of the utmost importance. Voldemort let you live for a very specific reason, with a promise of future punishment at a later date. That is a promise I intend to not let him keep, and I will do everything in my power to thwart his every move. I can promise you that."

"I will help in whatever way I can," Harry said. "Though, I'm still not entirely sure what the Order of the Phoenix is."

Dumbledore nodded his head in understanding and began to explain. "I founded the Order in the seventies, when Voldemort was first starting to come to prominence. The Ministry was large and disorganized. It was easily infiltrated, and you didn't know who you could trust, or who would be reporting your every movement. I needed a small group of individuals that I could trust who shared the same beliefs as me, and would go to great lengths to see Voldemort's work undone. Your parents were one such group, recruited almost immediately upon finishing school. Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew as well. The Longbottoms, the Bones, the McKinnons, the Prewitts… a lot of names that are no longer with us, I'm afraid. But a few of us survived - Alastor Moody, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape…"

"Snape is in the Order?" Harry asked incredulously. "Wasn't he outed as being a Death Eater like ten times, and then is publicly known for having turned traitor to them?"

"At great personal risk," Dumbledore agreed. "He is once more going to serve this role as spy. Currently, I suspect he is being 'reprimanded' by Voldemort as punishment, but Severus will play his part well. He will feed Voldemort just enough information to be convincing, and in turn, I suspect Voldemort will feed him just enough information to be convincing to us a well…"

"How do you know that he is really on your side then, and not truly on Voldemort's? Everyone will know he is a double agent."

"Because I know Professor Snape's deepest and greatest secret," Dumbledore said. "Alas, as much as I wish I could share it with you, it is not my secret to give. But, I can say that his secret has resulted in him hating Voldemort more than anything else in the world, and he, like Barty Crouch, will go to nearly any length to see him finished, even if it means multiple hours of torture by Voldemort to ensure his loyalty."

Harry contemplated the news for a few minutes, but said nothing. Dumbledore waited patiently while Harry mulled over the recent events, but eventually he stood up. "I will have more news for you in a few days, but I fear I have many obligations that I must fulfill. However, my office is always open if you wish to talk. Until then, I recommend you take it easy and get some rest."

"Thank you, headmaster," Harry said. "For being so open with me."

"After all you've been through, my dear boy, you deserve it," Dumbledore replied. And, with that, he left the room, leaving Harry to himself.


	23. Chapter 23

Over the coming days, many people came by to see Harry. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, and even more tokens of gratitude and well-wishes were given. The first people to visit him upon Dumbledore leaving on the first day were, unsurprisingly, his two best friends, Ron and Hermione.

Hermione rushed forward, grabbing him in a hug, though upon seeing Harry wince, she backed off. "Easy there Hermione. I feel like I've been run over by a stampede of Hippogriffs."

"Mate, you look like utter shite," Ron said by way of greeting. "Has Pomfrey done nothing?"

"Oh, you should have seen me before she jammed a thousand potions down my throat. There was a sword sticking out of my chest and everything."

"So, what happened?" Hermione asked nervously. "There's so many rumors going around, but the common denominator is that you said that it was You-know-who…"

"It's the same thing that happens every year, you know?" Harry replied. "First year, there was the Philosopher's stone. Second year was the Diary. Last year.. well, I guess last year was just Wormtail being driven out of hiding and going to find his master, which he did. This year, the difference is that Voldemort finally succeeded."

Harry spent the next fifteen minutes telling his friends how he got through the maze, and then what happened at the graveyard. By the end of it, Hermione was in tears, and Ron was practically speechless and white as a sheet. He didn't go into as much detail as he did with Dumbledore and Crouch, as he didn't really want to relive parts of it. Nor did he give the exact details of the ritual, or every last name of the Death Eaters, but he didn't really hide any information from them.

However, Harry specifically didn't tell them about the Order of the Phoenix. He trusted his friends with all of his secrets, but the Order was Dumbledore's secret, and therefore not his to give out. Harry knew that they would all be willing to fight, so he didn't see it as that big of an issue, if it should come to that. Dumbledore had specifically said that he recruited his parents as soon as they finished school, so it's not like the headmaster would be recruiting a bunch of underage fifteen year olds to be fighting.

Eventually, Ron and Hermione left for the next visitor, but the person he really wanted to see didn't come to visit for nearly an hour. Apparently there was a huge line and Pomfrey was very strict with the amount of people she would allow in the hospital wing at any given time.

When she did arrive though, Harry let out a sigh of relief. Fleur looked radiant as ever, even with the look of genuine worry on her face. She practically ran up and buried her head in his chest, before sobbing a bit. Harry held onto her tight for a few minutes, before Fleur composed herself.

"Tell me _ee_ t is not true," Fleur said worriedly. "Ze rumors…"

"It's true," Harry said quietly, holding onto her hand. "Voldemort stabbed me through the chest with a ritual knife."

Harry, as he had done with Ron and Hermione, told his girlfriend what happened in the graveyard. This was his third-retelling however, and he was starting to condense some of the facts. By the end of the day, he was sure he'd be sick of it entirely

"Zat is dreadful," Fleur said once Harry had finished. "I can't even imagine… To zis day, even in France, his name is feared. And for him to be back…"

"You believe me though, right?" Harry asked nervously. "The Minister seemed to be going out of his way to call me delusional and a liar."

"Of course I believe you!" Fleur said. "'Ow can I not? After everything you've been through... for zis to 'appen?"

Harry nodded his head gratefully. "What was the maze like for you?"

"Zair were a lot of traps," Fleur said, contemplating the question. "I 'ad zought I was making quick progress, but zen I came upon a Sphinx. It must 'ave taken me ten minutes to solve ze riddle… I don't zink I had a chance, with 'ow much of a 'eadstart you and Viktor 'ad… but I gave it my all."

Harry stayed silent for a minute, contemplating what he wanted to say. "When I woke up after the attack… the first person I hoped to see was you."

"I'm touched," Fleur said, smiling. "I didn't know anything was amiss until ze Aurors started taking ze maze apart. I was being interview by zem when you 'ad returned, and only got to see you when you were brought to 'ere last night."

"I saw you talking with Bill Weasley before Dumbledore cleared everyone from the room," Harry said quickly. "It looked like he said something funny."

"Really?" Fleur said, raising one perfect eyebrow. "You're choosing now as a time to do zis?"

"Well, he's older than me, better looking, has a dangerous job with loads of cool stories…" Harry was a bit concerned, though he did think it a bit irrational. His and Fleur's relationship wasn't exactly public knowledge. Most journalists were not as willing as Rita Skeeter to post sham articles about student relationships in the newspaper, not with how Harry had reacted to Rita.

Fleur rolled her eyes. "'E did try to flirt with me, but I found 'is attempts funny. 'E told me about 'is job as a curse breaker for Gringotts, and I admit, I 'ad been considering them amongst my choices so I could work 'ere to improve my English… 'E went on for some length about his work in Egypt."

"And?" Harry pressed on.

"And nothing," Fleur said dismissively. "'E's too full of 'imself. I 'ave met a dozen men like zat, who zink they can woo me in a such a manner. He was too practiced, too used to 'aving 'is way, and I could see right through his intent. Plus, I 'ave decided what I will do now zat ze tournament is over."

"Which is what?" asked Harry.

"It is clear zat England will need all ze 'elp it can get in ze upcoming months. I am going to become an Auror, and I will do whatever I can do to 'elp you. And, zis means zat I can visit you during ze summer. I enjoyed our time in ze past several months too much to let a minor thing like distance to get in ze way."

"That's good," Harry said, giving a genuinely relieved smile. "I don't know where I am staying this summer yet, but I see no reason why we couldn't go on dates to Diagon Alley or wherever you want. And it will be easier to write each other if you're not across the Channel."

Fleur smiled at Harry's visible change in demeanor. "It would like zat very much," she said. "I hear ze Auror training is vigorous, but I am confident."

"I can't imagine a world where you would not get accepted into Auror training. You're far too skilled for them to say no to."

"I'm glad you zink so," said Fleur. "And I am sorry for making you worry like zat."

"I was being irrational," Harry responded.

"It takes more zan a wink of ze eyes and flexing of ze muscles to interest me," she said. "You've done more in ze last four years zan zat curse-breaker could ever imagine. As if I would be impressed by ze raiding of dusty old tombs in ze pursuit of gold."

Harry was about to respond, but Fleur quickly leaned down and caught his lips in a kiss. All doubt left Harry's mind as a fire was lit in his loins. He quickly wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, but before things could get out of hand, there was a loud coughing from behind him.

"What did I tell you, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, glaring at both of them. "You need rest and relaxation. Frolicking about like this is too strenuous for you in your present state. And that's not to mention that you have a line of visitors still waiting."

"Sorry," Harry replied, not really sorry. Fleur seemed unphased, but took that as a hint that her time was up. She gave him a quick peck and waved him goodbye as the next visitor came in.

Unluckily for him, the visitor was not even half as attractive as Fleur. With a sigh, Harry readied himself for the influx of visitors that he had little interest in, but was expected to be receptive of and kind to.

* * *

It was nearly two hours after Fleur's visit before Harry saw a well-wisher he actually cared about, this time in the form of the Weasley twins.

"Heya, Harry," Fred and George greeted exuberantly. They were alternating between looking distressed and cheerful, though cheerful seemed to be winning out.

"Hey guys," Harry replied, returning a small smile. The sight of friendly faces was very welcomed, even if they were bearing mischievous smirks.

"Heard you got into a bit of a scuffle," said George.

"Thought we'd come by to take a look for ourselves," Fred continued.

"But, I must say, the new look is an improvement," they finished together. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, a dagger through the chest is real fashionable," Harry replied, gingerly rubbing at the wound. Despite having been healed, it was quite tender.

The twins sombered up immediately. "Mum and Dad have already been approached by Dumbledore," Fred said.

"Bill as well," George added. "They're going to be part of some unsanctioned group, fighting against You-know-who."

"We immediately offered to join… but they said we're too young."

"They're not wrong," Harry replied. "You know, almost none of Dumbledore's group survived the first war. Look how Mad-eye Moody turned out. I want to fight as well, but I've still got three years left of Hogwarts to go. Even given my role in recent events, Dumbledore likely won't let me join."

"We _are_ of age though, which is the annoying part," Fred said.

"We _want_ to fight," George continued. "We've grown up our whole lives hearing about how mum's brothers were killed in the war…"

"But, I guess if Dumbledore won't even let _you_ in, we'll have to suck it up."

Harry sighed. "There haven't even been any attacks yet. No one knows what's going to happen. You've heard the stories of how it began last time - there wasn't exactly open warfare. I reckon we'll all have roles to play in the upcoming years. You two are brilliant when you put your minds to it, and I reckon we'll all be needing some laughs before long."

"That's a good point," George said contemplatively. "We want to open our own store as soon as possible, but mum would hear none of it. She's determined that we have to take our NEWTS.. but they just don't seem relevant for what we want to do, especially with war looming."

"You guys raised enough funds this year for that?" Harry asked. "That can't be cheap."

"It's not," Fred said. "We're going to look into it more during the summer, but we've got an idea where we want our premises to be. We'll probably have to get a loan from the goblins though."

"If mum were to find out…" George said. The three of them shivered at the thought.

Harry suddenly had an idea, and he reached for his tournament winnings. He had agreed to split it fairly with Hermione and Ron, and he still had every intent of doing that, but truthfully, he didn't really have any use for his own share. He didn't even think twice before taking his share out of the bag and handing it to the twins.

"We can't take this," they replied. "You won it fair and square."

"I don't really need it," Harry replied. "I know it isn't all that much in the grand scheme of things, but the value of a laugh is going to be more important than having another stack of gold in my vault that I'm never going to use."

"We'll pay you back," Fred said seriously.

"Or better yet, we can treat it like an investment," George added. "You can be a silent partner. This gold will help more than you think."

"How much is it?" Fred asked.

"Three hundred and thirty-four galleons," Harry replied. "You should consider asking Ron for help. Merlin knows he's going to have compulsive spending problems with that same amount of gold. A chance to invest may help him in the long term by being responsible."

"We'll consider it," George replied, hefting the bag in one hand. "This should go a long way in developing new lines of product."

"If there's something you want us to experiment with, just let us know and we'll see if we can do something. Now that we're of age, it's going to be much easier for us to get hold of some rarer ingredients."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Harry.

* * *

It was nearly midnight, several hours after the last visitor had said their part and left. Not everyone had been joyful. Some had thought he was full of crap about Voldemort being back, though they didn't say it like that in so many words. But there was no denying that Harry had been wounded in some sort of fight. It was well known that Harry always managed to end up in the hospital wing at the end of the year.

Regardless, most people merely wanted to congratulate him on winning the Tournament. With Voldemort's return, the actual fact that he had won seemed almost an afterthought to him. It just didn't seem that important in the face of impending conflict.

Harry was ready to go to sleep when the doors to the hospital wing opened once more, revealing Dumbledore and a large shaggy dog on a leash. Harry sat up in his bed immediately.

"Sirius!" Harry shouted with excitement. His godfather rushed over, transforming back into his human form, and hugged him tightly.

"Harry," Sirius said, smiling widely. "You look like shit, but you're alive, and that's the important part."

"You don't look much better," Harry retorted. "Have you settled down yet?"

"Well, I've got some news on that front," Sirius replied excitedly. "You're coming to live with me this summer."

"Are you serious?" Harry asked.

"Yes I am, and yes I am," Sirius said, chuckling. That joke never got old for him. Harry rolled his eyes in response.

"It took a little persuasion," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "But I've managed to convince Sirius to move back into his old family home."

"I hate the place," Sirius said, frowning at the very thought. "Haven't lived there since I was sixteen, but from what we've gathered, no one has lived there in ten years, not since my mother died. It'll take a bit to clean up, but it's a place to stay."

"That's great," Harry said, smiling. "Excellent."

"Sirius was kind enough to allow us the use of the place as Headquarters for the Order, so you will be seeing a lot of me during the summer, I'm afraid, even if it's only for five minutes at a time."

"That's good too," Harry said. "I want to be informed of what's going on, even if I'm not in the actual Order."

Dumbledore nodded. "Like I said previously, it's going to take some time to recruit new members, but I will gladly keep you appraised of the current state of things. Now, while the house is currently in disarray, it will be habitable by the time you leave on the Hogwarts express. We're not going to make the same mistake as last time - I am going to cast the Fidelius Charm, and Sirius is going to be the Secret Keeper - it is his house after all, but this way, you will be as protected as possible."

"That sounds great," Harry replied eagerly. He was truly amazed that he wouldn't be forced to live with the Dursley's any longer. Heck, he might not ever have to see them again, which was perfectly fine by him. "This is truly amazing, thank you."

Dumbledore smiled kindly, before excusing himself to give Sirius and Harry some time to talk alone.

"So, tell me all about this girlfriend of yours," Sirius said, grinning ear to ear.

Harry rolled his eyes, sighed, and threw a chocolate frog at him.

* * *

"Students. Colleagues. Honored guests." Dumbledore said, standing at the front of the Great Hall. He was resplendent in blue and orange robes, with his customary half-moon glasses perched precariously upon his nose, and his long beard tucked into his robe. "The end of another year."

Everyone in the hall was watching the elderly headmaster give his speech. No one dared speak over him, not even in whisper, for fear of missing what he was about to say.

"There is much I wish to say to you all tonight. The Ministry would wish I say nothing at all, but you all deserve to know the truth. You all deserve to know what happened on the night of the Third Task."

Dumbledore paused for dramatic effect, taking time to scan each and every face in the room. These children deserved to grow up in a time of peace, but it was about to be ripped away. "Lord Voldemort has returned."

The uproar was immediate and deafening, despite the rumors of the truth having soaked into every nook and cranny of Hogwarts in the previous days. Patiently, Dumbledore raised one hand up. The noise stopped immediately.

"The details of his rebirth are gravely unpleasant and deeply unsettling, so I will refrain from any specifics. Suffice it say, before now, Voldemort had existed in this world as a mere shade, bodiless, a wraith of little concern but able to hide from even the best efforts of myself and the Ministry. But I am afraid we have all been caught off guard by his plans, plans to kidnap Harry Potter and enact a resurrection ritual using the darkest of magics. Plans that succeeded."

Nobody said a word, but across the Hall, eyes flitted and stared at where Harry sat, looking as forlorn and lost as perhaps he had ever been.

"I can scarcely fathom the bravery Harry Potter showed to escape from Lord Voldemort, a feat few wizards have ever achieved. Harry Potter deserves our respect and admiration for surviving once more when so many would have failed. Do not blame him for Voldemort's return, for few people, if any at all, may have been able to stop it." Dumbledore looked down with a sad expression of his face. "If I had been there," he said, "perhaps not even I could have made a difference."

There was a noticeable stir at this, and McGonagall nearly stood before the Headmaster waved her to sit back down.

Finally, after an endless wait, Dumbledore looked back up at the crowd. "This is not a time for strife or petty feuds. Yet neither is it a time for despair. Instead, my friends, let us embrace this opportunity for unity. Only if we stand together can we hope to overcome the darkness. In the coming months you may hear wild stories, stories too impossible, too fantastic to believe, but know this. No matter what you hear, no matter who tells it, know that you will always be welcomed here at Hogwarts, if you but desire safety."

"Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort is without his talents," Dumbledore continued. "He has a gift of spreading fear and discord. We can only combat him as long as we stand together. Divided, we are weak. Remember this, and know that you are never alone. Help will always be there for those who seek it."

"We will face challenging times and extreme adversity, this is unfortunately true. There are dark and dangerous times ahead of us, and I urge you all to prepare. If you see any strange activity, I urge you to report it through the proper channels as soon as possible. And remember, even as the darkness encroaches, there will always be hope. Together, hope and justice shall prevail and despair shall not!"

Dumbledore raised a glass. "To Harry Potter," he said. "To Hogwarts. And to all of wizardkind!"

* * *

END

* * *

 _Closing words:_

 _A few things I want to say, now that this year is complete. I set out writing this fic with one goal in mind: write a believable Harry/Fleur fic that doesn't involve gimmicks and cliches. You know the ones - Veela Auras/Allure, soul bonds, Veela bonds, woe-is-me-I'm-too-beautiful-and-unobtainable, mindmelds with other characters (James, Voldemort, Salazar Slytherin, Dobby), changing Harry's age, changing Fleur's age, moving the tournament to Harry's seventh year, the recent trend of bodyguard!Harry… It's been a personal belief of mine that none of that is actually needed to make it work, and people just like to overcomplicate things. So I wrote a barebones story with that one goal in mind._

 _Whether or not I succeeded with my goal is up to interpretation, I guess. The story probably could have ended up as Harry/Lavender pretty easily. I have always, first and foremost, written for my own entertainment. However, that often means I leave a lot of my stories unfinished, so like the previous story I posted, I waited until I finished writing the whole story before posting it, so I wouldn't leave the story hanging if I got bored._

 _The final word count is 113,000 words, and with 23 chapters, that's an average of 4,900 words per chapter. That's reasonable, I think, and inline with canon. Each chapter was edited three or four times by myself before being posted, but with only my own eyes reading it, mistakes will always be missed._

 _There are some weak moments in the story, I'll be the first to admit it. The first one that stands out to me is the Weighing of the Wands and the "press conference". Another is the Yule Ball scene, which in my opinion, is one of the hardest scenes to write in the fandom. There's a lot of room for improvement in that, I think, and with the difficulty in mind, I didn't try particularly hard to make it not cringeworthy or self-indulgent. The second task is pretty weak as well, but I didn't want to just use Gillyweed. Then, there's some of the later filler chapters, where the story noticeably picks up pace and rushes towards the end. Lastly, the third task. I wanted to do something interesting, and for some reason the first thing that came to mind was the Water Temple in Zelda OoT, with the shadow Link, and well, I think it could have been handled or written better. Then, I know there's a few random plot points that go nowhere. Some of the things Harry buys in Hogsmede don't get mentioned ever again, and Harry never did get to watch the memories of the other Champions for the first task. There's probably others, but I sort of dislike plot points being introduced into a story for a sole singular purpose a chapter later, since it feels kind of cheap. I just went with the flow of the story instead of trying to cram in misc. filler._

 _So, I know people will be asking for a sequel next. I'd love to say it's finished, but beyond planning the first few chapters, I haven't really started. I know where I want to take the story (how many Auror!Fleur stories have you seen?), but getting it there will take some time. I'll likely get sidetracked with one of my other writing projects before getting back to this, so I can't really promise anything. I did sort of post this story out of the blue, so you can expect the same thing for the sequel whenever I get around to it. Also, since there seems to be some confusion, this story is firmly Harry/Fleur. There will be no deviation from that plan, so all you people who are worrying about possible implied/imagined Fleur/Bill don't need to worry._

 _Oh, and lastly, I'd like to thank everyone who has left reviews, especially the people who PMed me with story corrections, and especially Jeram who helped me with Dumbledore's final speech._

 _And to conclude, there were 33 eye rolls in the story. 34 if you count Barty Jr's eyes rolling up into his head when he had a seizure._


End file.
